Loreling Karaxa

Part 1, Karaxa the Bard

Wet hay. No, not quite wet. There was more of a 'moistness' to the hay that was clinging to Karaxa's face. It's not that it had been rained on, but more as if myriad fluids had been absorbed into it over a humid night. Regardless, this was not the way one had wanted to wake up: face down in their own drool, on a bed more fit for a horse or pig than a bard. At times like these however, there was little you could do about it. 

The village Karaxa had been staying in was supposed to have been nothing more than a brief respite before moving on to Tel Anor, but one of the village children had spotted their lyre before they could reach the gates. In a village such as this, so unremarkable, Karaxa didn't even remember the thing's name, one could not simply allow a bard to come and go without a song or story. No, things were not done in that way.

 
As such, they had been prodded and cajoled until finally relenting to perform a song... Or six. Had there been a tankard of ale? And why was there a memory of a donkey that could... Nevermind that, focus. Though their aching head made a daunting task of that.
"Okaaaaaay, water first, probably some breakfast, then we can get to the concentrating."
Just then, the door burst open, and a heavy set farmer's wife charged into the room.
"DEMON!" she cried.

 
At this Karaxa's mind sharpened instantly, drunkenness evaporating, making way for an adrenaline-fuelled sobriety and keenness of instinct. This was serious. If there were demons then...
A fist shot out at Karaxa. They tried to dodge, but too slow. There was a crunching impact and the bard winced, shooting through the air and landing hard on the wooden floor. They could feel their adrenaline pumping. This was it. It's do or die. "N'ga Tha'hose!" Karaxa bellowed the spell and the room shook. A sigil of curved, almost alien characters appeared on the floor glowing faintly before erupting into a blinding purple. A flying wyrm materialised above the sigil, floating there. Barely more than the size of a hand, yet it had been summoned to this place by its master's will.

The air was electric, with a faint taste of burning. The wyrm, N'ga, was tensed. Coiled like a snake. It looked ready to pounce. Until it regarded the room. N'ga cast his gaze to the farmwoman, to the lump on the hay, the strewn clothing , before finally turning to Karaxa and rolling what could only be described as his "eye". Seeing this, Karaxa faltered. They began stammering. "I-I had just woke up, and this woman burst in, and said there were demons. Demons N'ga!"
The farmwoman, recovering from her shock at the otherworldly display, seemed to regroup herself. She patted down her clothing and crossed her arms, before settling on a fierce scowl. "YOU WHORE!" she snarled, prodding a thick finger into Karaxa's chest.

"Where is he? Where is Padro!?"

Karaxa stood, jaw slackening in a moment of realisation. Karaxa's palm loudly smacked across their own face, as the "he" in question, a small, fleshy lump of a man who had been lying on the hay, sheepishly moved forward. He was decidedly nude.

The man gingerly put a consoling hand forward to place upon the farmwoman. "Betha, my darling, it's so good to see yo-AGGGHHHH!" Betha's massive hand caught Padro by the scruff of the neck and squeezed down on it, with all the scorn a jilted wife could bring to bear.

"You LYING..." 
*SMACK*

"CHEATING..." 
*SMACK*

"SCOUNDREL!" 
*SMACK*

Once Padro had been cuffed a few times more and managed to speedily blurt out a suspiciously well rehearsed apology speech, he fled the scene. Betha whirled, N'ga floated just outside of arm's reach, and Karaxa was left alone to face the woman's wrath.

"So when you came running in, screaming about Demons, you were talking about me... ah. I see." Karaxa glanced at N'ga and shot him an apologetic look, but the wyrm refused her gaze, and kept his head high, giving off an imperious, holier-than-thou air.

"Too right I was! What sort of traveller just waltzes into town, downs half the county's ale and cosies on up to a poor woman's husband and the village donkey of all things!?"

"I don't see any donkey." Karaxa replied, "On that count at least I may be innocent."

Betha looked back with a face of pure contempt and disgust. "Because we had to bury him. You know we relied on that mule for hauling goods from the farm to the market each week, but after what you did to him I'm not surprised he kicked it. Hells, if we'd have known you'd cause this much damage we'd have chased you out the moment you showed up."

Karaxa's face was as white as a sheet. They'd had a few nights of debauchery back in the college, but even then it was a rare thing to introduce livestock to the bedroom, and the animals had always at least survived the night.

Karaxa's eyes closed tightly, hands laid flat to their sides. They bowed deeply to Betha. "Miss Betha, though my words can do little to mend what has been done here, you have my apologies."

Betha placed a hand on Karaxa, then two, and threw the bard straight through the barn door. The bard spun in the air, choosing to land painfully on their back to spare the lyre in their hands, which they clung on to like a precious babe. Presently, they spoke.

"Let this be a warning to kin and kith, please be careful who you drink with.

For while a farmer might nuisance a goat or sheep, there's nothing with which a bard won't sleep."