The Plucky Paws Guild Issue 1

Melodus Wyndsong sat in his usual corner of The Dancing Ferret, his nimble fingers deftly picking out a sad melody, simultaneously strumming accompanying chords. His furry hands were sure and true, the sound of two lutes emerging from his single instrument. Melodus nodded in satisfaction, this was his specialty. Featherwing herself had praised him for this skill when she had awarded him the Golden Apple last year at the Bardic Convocation. 

He knew he cut a suave figure, lazily reclining by the warm fire. His feet rested casually on the hearth, his brown, well-oiled leather boots rising to his thigh. Tonight he wore his favorite feathered hat, rakishly perched on his head at an angle. His rich blue velvet vest was a perfect complement to the creamy white silk of his shirt. Yes, he looked every inch the successful bard that he was. The innkeeper, Celdric, nodded to him as he passed by, dropping off another mug of his mulled wine.

Bless that old badger, Melodus thought, raising the mug in his right hand in salute to the elderly innkeeper, his left hand never missing a note as it plucked the tune. Melodus took a long draught, savoring the delicious warmth. Yes, Celdric certainly kept a fine larder and an even finer wine cellar. 

His fingers continued dancing across the dark mahogany of his lute, the golden filigree twinkly in the candlelight. True, it was a small crowd tonight, but Melodus prided himself in always putting on the best show for his audience no matter the size, no matter the social standing. He gazed around the room, taking in his fellow guests. A few merchant lizards in from Green Swamp for trade occupied a table nearby, they nodded approvingly at Melodus’ haunting song while enjoying their evening meal. 

A couple of fellow raccoons sat across at another table, playing cards. The leaner fellow was clearly coming off poorly, his frustration evident as his companion repeatedly one hand after hand. “How about something more joyful!” he called out in anger towards Melodus. “How can a raccoon possibly concentrate on cards with such a melancholy tune playing!”

“It does not seem to be disturbing your friend, “ Melodus answered with a warm smile. “She seems to doing quite well with my song. Perhaps you should look elsewhere for your lack of success…your skill perhaps?” he added with a wink towards his accuser.

The raccoon looked about to reply, then thought better of getting in a verbal joust with a minstrel. Instead, he dismissed the bard with a wave of frustration, crying out in dismay as his fellow player took another hand from him. 

Melodus continued playing, his tune. “The Loss of Lady Fairywood” was building to its stirring conclusion. It truly was a morose lament, even sadder with the lyrics, but Melodus was saving his voice. He would need it before this night was over. Yes, his silver tongue would serve him well! He would need all of his cunning and skill to pull off tonight's audacious gamble!

But then what was life, but a gamble? The bold and daring taking wins and loss in stride betting their lives on the grand game. The cautious and fearful holding back for fear of loss, and that is why they would accomplish so little. And while he…he would do great things! Oh yes! Tonight would be a night to remember.

He spotted his first target entering the smoky inn. Reginald Brightblade was unmistakable, easily the largest raccoon Melodus had ever seen. His heavy, woolen blue cloak trailed behind him, the flames of the hearth dancing off his polished breastplate and twinkling off burnished chainmail. His trusted sword, Sablebane, hung at his side, a heavy shield carried effortlessly in his left hand. Yes, quite the figure. Reginald would be easy to convince. Melodus’ venture was just the type of thing the warrior loved. Bold, daring, a bit foolhardy. Yes, Reginald would be the first to agree to this quest, if Melodus’ hunch served him well.

And when had it not served him well? He finished his recital, a dramatic E minor chord ringing throughout the common room. Ah the E minor, Melodus loved the chord, so much drama, so much mystery. He stood up, adjusting his vest as he headed over to Brightblade’s table. Yes, tonight would be a night to remember!
--
Reginald Brightblad strode down the paved streets of Crooked Hollow. His limbs were weary from the long travel and pangs of hunger gnawed at his very soul. Luckily for him, the remedy to both of his maladies lay ahead. The Dancing Ferret Inn was visible in the distance, a large sprawling building at the bottom of the gentle hill. Reginald fancied he could even smell Celdric’s stew from here. But he knew that to be pure fancy, as the many odors of the myriad denizens of Crooked Hollow masked any possible smell, even for a nose as sensitive as his. Still, he knew the pleasures that awaited him at the Dancing Ferret Inn and his tired feet felt a little lighter knowing his destination was close.

It had taken him just under a week to travel from the outer farmlands to his destination. His furry hand patted the leather pouch at his side, reflecting on the cryptic letter enclosed within. “Meet me in one week at the hearth of The Dancing Ferret! Your glory awaits!” The letter had been beautifully penned but signed only with the letter M. The author clearly knew Brightblade well. He could never resist a good mystery, and so he had set out to travel across the forest to Crooked Hollow and the welcome embrace of the Dancing Ferret Inn.

As usual, he drew stares from the many people he passed on the busy road. He was used to it by now. He knew he was quite large for a raccoon, at first glance many took him for a hound of some sort till his colors and usual fur patterns gave him away. He didn’t mind. He was an anomaly among the raccoon folk, he knew it and he accepted it. So few of his kind became warriors, and even fewer had the build to excel as he had. Furthermore, he knew that this area of Crooked Hollow was typically avoided by the larger creatures of the woods, as the roads and houses were more suited to the smaller forms. He looked across the cobble street to see one raccoon urchin staring at him in disbelief, a small stick clutched in his tiny paw like a sword.

“Eat your vegetables lad!” he called out over his shoulder. “That’s how I got so big!” The young raccoon scampered off, rather from fear or a newfound desire to eat vegetables Reginald did not know.

The heavy wooden door to the Dancing Ferret opened easily for him as he ducked his head to enter the common room. The scents of good food, mulled wine, and a large fire assailed him. His mouth began to salivate in anticipation. Yes, he had reached the end of today’s travel. He could rest.  

“Ah! Sir Brightblade! You are most welcome as always!” Celdric called out, rubbing his paws upon his spotless apron. 

“My thanks Goodman Celdric, as always it is a pleasure to enter your Inn! But please, you know I am not knighted.”

“Humph!” the elder badger snorted, bringing Reginald a mug of mulled wine and gesturing to an empty table, one of the sturdier furnishings with larger chairs.

“Duke Wolfheart is a noble and good leader but he’s foolish to not have elevated you after your defeat of the bandit lord, Sabletooth. Why since you laid that foul coyote low, the caravans have been able to pass through Creaking River without a hitch! My supplies have never been cheaper! You’ll not pay a penny why you eat at my Inn!!!”

Reginald warmed at the compliment and raised the mug in salute to Celdric. He lowered his large frame into the stout chair, it still creaked a little under his weight but held well enough. Truth be told he was glad of the free fare, his purse was a bit light of late, and every penny counted. “Tis well,” he replied smacking his lips with pleasure after taking a long draught of the wine. “I did not slay that beast for titles or wealth, but to stop the fiend’s depredations of the countryside.”

They both knew no raccoon had ever been elevated to knighthood and while many assumed that must chafe Reginald’s pride, the truth was he did not care. He was speaking honestly when he claimed that titles had not motivated him in that great battle. Absently he rubbed his paw across his armored chest, the ragged scars from Sabletooth’s fearsome bite lying beneath. It had been a close thing, but Reginald had slain the beast in the end. He patted the pommel of his beloved sword. It had earned its name that day!

“I agree with the good badger master Celdric,” a smooth voice called out, approaching him. “The Duke is remiss in his duties. Such a great and noble warrior as yourself surely deserves to be knighted!”

Brightblade looked up at the speaker and started with surprise. Melodus Wyndsong?! He sputtered a little, choking on his second pull of the large tankard. “Ah!” he exclaimed, recovering from the shock. “Melodus, the mysterious M! I should have guessed. Who else would have such a flair for the dramatic? And it was such a fine hand that had written the letter!”

Reginald saw the minstrel smile, standing up a little straighter, the praise clearly appreciated. “So the great bard, Melodus Wyndsong has a proposition for Reginald Brightblade? Please sit,” he said gesturing to one of the chairs across from him. “Have you eaten? I am famished!”

“Oh I am quite well,” Melodus answered, sitting himself at the table. “But please, do not mind me, eat! Celdric will undoubtedly be getting you a large bowl of his famous stew. He was quite sincere about the impact to all of Crooked Hollow since you slew that blackheart Sabletooth the Cruel. You must tell me of your battle! I would write a song worth of such a great dead!”

Reginald’s heart quickened with pride, despite himself. To be the subject of a ballad crafted by such as Melodus Wyndsong, now that would truly be an honor.

“So tell me,” he began, his curiosity getting the better of him. “What is this glory you promised me in your letter?”

“Ah!” Melodus smiled, his finger strumming a dramatic chord on his sleek lute. “But you would not want to spoil the surprise, would you? We must await till the others arrive?”

“Others?” Reginald asked, his face brightening as Celdric approached with a heavily laden platter. He rubbed his large paws together in appreciation as the badger laid out a large steaming bowl, along with a generous portion of a wheel of cheese and half a loaf of fresh bread. He nodded in thanks to the innskeep who smiled and returned the nod, heading to the table of lizards in the corner.

The great raccoon attacked the food before him like a worthy foe, savoring every bite. Only a weary traveler such as he knew the true joy of a good meal after a long day. He looked up after a few minutes, a large portion of the stew now absent. “What others?”

Melodus's smile widened. He was enjoying the attention of his single audience, typical of such an entertainer. Well, let him. He probably deserved a moment of triumph, knowing Wyndsong this would be an interesting night indeed!

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