The (Noble) Adventures of Bob The Bard

"Where the Bard Gets His Songs"
By Duchess Talisin Silverwolf of the Iron Mountains

"Gather 'round, noble people, and hear a tale of the heroes of old.
There was once a knight......" - every bard who ever lived

Robert Greyson, wandering bard, sat sunning himself on a large rock by the side of the highway. His mandolin was propped against the rock, and his eyes were closed. The warmth of the midafternoon sun was lulling him to sleep.
Hoofbeats intruded as he lay dozing, and reluctantly he sat up, shaded his eyes, and peered down the road.
The figure approaching appeared as a legend embodied. A splendid charger with golden tack pranced tirelessly towards him. The knightly figure sat astride with head thrown back, reigns held high in one cocked wrist, the other hand planted firmly on his hip. His mail was white and highly polished, his tabard golden-trimmed. A great white plume thrust grandly from his white helm. An enormous hand-and-a-half sword with a scrolled golden hilt swung on one side. He was a picture of all that is noble, fine, good, pure, holy, hot, and uncomfortable.
This splendid figure of a knight drew his prancing mount to a halt beside the rock. One hand lifted his visor and a great beaming face assaulted Robert.
"Ho there, friend!" the knight boomed. "Might I assume that thou art a noble minstrel from thy graceful instrument lying yonder?"
Robert blanched. "I am a bard," he allowed.
The knight laughed joyously. "Well then, noble bard! I am Sir Roland, and I am on a Most Noble Quest for Her Majesty the Queen! I would deem my adventures well begun indeed should you consent to follow along and set my grand deeds to bardic word, that I might find fame at last! What a noble idea!"
"Noble," muttered Robert.
"What say you, O most wondrous tale-spinner?"
Robert pulled a sheet of parchment and a stub of charcoal from his pack and wrote down "O most wondrous." He then replaced it, slung his pack over one shoulder, retrieved his mandolin, and walked onto the highway. "Sure, why not," he told the knight.
"And by what name art thou known?" asked the knight as they moved off down the road.
"Bob. Bob the Bard."

They ambled a ways down the road. "What quest are you about?" Bob asked.
Sir Roland swelled considerably. "In a small, innocent hamlet lies a graveyard with a crypt. This is no ordinary crypt, I assure thee."
"Of course not," Bob murmured.
"Indeed, the villagers report that a foul demonic presence from within has been terrorizing the country. Cattle have been found hideously mutilated, chickens beheaded, vir- er, fair maidens carried off. Her Most Royal Majesty the Queen has entrusted me with this most noble task- to rid the land of this foul evil and restore the countryside to its noble self. Is that not grand?"
"Foul. Noble. Grand." said Bob. "How far is this crypt?"
"It is a foul and perilous journey, many days to the north"

Fifteen minutes later, after correcting their course and heading east, they found the graveyard. Clouds had darkened the skies and a palpable aura of evil had surrounded them. The gravestones were old, the carvings worn smooth, and few still stood erect. It was through this mossy lair of the dead that they trod, until they at last located the entrance to the evil crypt.
Sir Roland stopped, puzzled. ""Er.... how do I open this?" For the door was of smooth marble, unmarked and without cracks in which the fingers might find purchase.
"Knock," suggested Bob.
Sir Roland looked askance at him, then shrugged. He knocked.
The earth erupted beneath his feet, and Sir Roland threw himself backwards, startled.
A skeleton clad in ragged plaid rose slowly from the ground. A set of moldy bagpipes were clutched in his fleshless hands. "None may pass until I am bested in a contest of riddles," it intoned.
Sir Roland scratched his head. He slowly turned to Bob. "Most Noble Bob," he began hesitantly, "I'm.... I would bow to your expertise in this manner." He shifted nervously, eyes pleading.
Bob sighed, then faced the skeletal Scot. "I shall meet you in Bardic Challenge," he told it.
It nodded slowly. "Please, sir bard, take the first bow."
Sir Roland flinched, expecting physical combat. Bob shook his head at him, irritated.
"Please, sir guardian, proceed. It is you who challenges our right to pass."
The skeleton bowed. "I thank you for your wisdom. I shall proceed. Now-

'Some say I fly
But I'm not a bird.
I'm often wasted
Or so I've heard.
Though I go on endlessly
There's never enough of me.'

Bob nodded gravely.

"This is impossible!" Sir Roland burst out. "How could anyone be expected to know such an arcane thing?"

"Time," said Bob.

"Correct," said the skeleton.

"?!?!?!?!?!?!" said Sir Roland.

Bob blew an exasperated breath at Roland. "The first riddle in a bardic challenge is always answered 'time'. It's the law of the bardic guild." He turned back to the skeleton. "Now sir-

'Weight in my belly
Trees on my back
Nails in my ribs
Feet I do lack.'

The skeleton considered gravely. "A ship."

"Correct," said Bob.

Roland groaned.

"All right," said the skeletal bard. "Try this-

'At the sound of me, men may cheer
Or stamp their feet.
At the sound of me, women may laugh
Or sometimes weep.'

Bob considered this for a few minutes. Roland began to shift about nervously. Finally.....

"Music," said Bob.

"Correct," said the skeleton.

"Whoopee!" yelled Roland, jumping up and down. "I know one!" he hollered enthusiastically. "I know- how about, how about..... 'A box without hinges, key or..... li...." he trailed off as he became aware of their disapproving glares.

Bob sighed. "I apologize for this interruption," he told the skeleton. "Please accept my deepest regrets."

The skeleton bowed. "Not at all, my friend. You cannot be held responsible for the ignorant and uncivilized. Pray continue."

"You are most gracious. Riddle me this-

'I am found in shafts and beams.
I can pour, or sometimes stream.'

Impossibly, the skeleton's eye sockets seemed to widen. "Damn," it muttered, sinking back into the earth. The crypt door swung open.

"You did it!' whooped Roland. "What was the answer?"

"It was a simple one, really," Bob said absently. "'Sunlight'".

"Then why did he miss it?"

"He's forgotten what it is." Bob entered the crypt.

They stood in the crypt's front room. A stone slab lay in the center with a small metal stand atop it. Perched upon the stand was a black jewel, pulsing with an evil purplish glow. Otherwise, it was quiet and empty.
Sir Roland looked around. "Now what?"
Bob shrugged. "Break the jewel."
Sir Roland thought that this was a splendid idea. Drawing his sword, he struck the jewel. It shattered easily.
Immediately, the feelings of dread and menace were gone. The sun shone, the birds sang, and all was well again.
Sir Roland was dumbstruck. "That's IT? That was my wonderful quest?? Where are the demons? Where are the foul monsters to vanquish in mighty battle?? What will I tell the Queen?!?!"
Bob tilted his head to one side. "The truth, I'm sure," he said mildly.
Sir Roland buried his head in his hands and began to rock back and forth in misery. "I'm ruined," he moaned.
"I'm sure I could sing a tale of your bravery and valor," said Bob distantly. "About the....... hundreds of demonic monsters you vanquished- nobly, of course."
Sir Roland looked up slowly. "You..... you would do that?" he asked hopefully.
Bob reeled in the hook. "Sure. For ten gold pieces, I'll write you a wondrous noble tale that will bring you fame and fortune from far and wide."
"T-ten WHAT?!" Sir Roland gaped. "Money? You would take money for a song? For a lie?"
Bob waved dismissively. "It's not a lie," he soothed. "Merely embellishment- poetic license, you know. After all, had there truly been a few thousand demons, surely a noble knight like yourself would have triumphed."
"That's true!" Sir Roland perked up. "But what if someone found out?"
"No one will," Bob assured him. "We do this sort of thing all the time. Every time, in fact. Do we have a deal?"
"Deal," said Sir Roland, counting out coins as they walked away.
"You know, for five more I'll double the number of foes and add a damsel in distress for you to rescue."
"No..... I guess I don't really need a damsel," said Sir Roland reluctantly. "Listen.... the legends of Sir Richard..... were those..... I mean....."
"Yes," said Bob as their voices faded into the distance.
"What about Sir Lancelot? Surely not him......"

The Tale of Noble Sir Roland

Listen ye children, and listen ye well
Hear tales of a knight as I would now tell
Sir Roland his name, and bright was his hair
Handsome of face, noble-minded and fair
He rode on his charger one bright summer's day
To vanquish a foe most demonic and fey.