Chapter 1 A tale was often expected to be an epic story of warriors and goddesses, knights saving princesses, taught to many a generation about love and the future of life. Morals and stories that had deep meanings, that was what was taught. Then the Liberation happened, as dubbed by the government, an unfit title in retrospect. Dragons wreaked havoc across the land, burned down people’s lives, and with it the libraries of yonder. Now Dragon Tamers ruled, controlling what one saw in their daily life, oppressing those whom tried to speak freely, what an unruly thing it ‘twas. Yet, in their eyes, it was perfection, they did not see the woes of these prisoners. As a Bard of Freedom, Lydia did not follow these rules, no! She would fight back, sing songs of epics, share the knowledge that should never have been lost. Any Bard knew this, and to follow it, this code, was a sentence of certain death. — Sat upon a stool, was a maiden with a deep emerald green cloak and a flute strapped to her thigh, held fast by a leather belt. She sipped lightly on a foamy drink in a barrel style cup, one a dwarf would probably enjoy. If one were to pay close attention, they would notice her foot tapping against the stool in the beat of the music playing through the tavern, or maybe even the way her eyes seemed lost to another world. The tavern’s tune faded out and the woman stepped up, two long bundles of golden hair gently going into place on each shoulder, her eyes as blue as the ocean lit up as she took out her flute and stepped on the podium. She starts with a melodic tune that captivates the audience in a whirl of passion and longing, and for what feels like hours she plays until it tapers out to let her voice shine through. One might note the astounding voice of hers, more so than the flute, or others might focus on the lyrics of which were quite… rebellious. Yonder, our knowledge lost, To time, it wanders, While nobles launder, We are not to hinder, Even through clouds of gray, Our voices drowned in a sea of storm, What is it that we must give? Life, heart, and soul? When do we stop giving? To a rotten tree, That won’t let us be, Fear strikes along with a snake, A snake of old, We all know who he is, Yet we turn a blind eye At the end of this lyric, guards rush in, cloaks flying as they move to apprehend this girl. Yet, we all know, she cannot be silenced. In a poof of smoke, the maiden disappears from sight, leaving guards more befuddled than ever. I could hear a few curses of witch and magic-user, but I couldn’t help but be captivated by this so-called “witch” and her words of freedom. Like a torch amidst a storm of darkness. My drink has long since gone flat and I let out a small sigh before pushing coins to the bartender and making my leave. Crisp fall wind bites into my thin dragon-hide cloak, leaving me shivering in no time. Left and right, my eyes trail a path, searching for a whisper of that sunny hair; yet to no avail, I do not find her. My face is downcast, another day of waiting for that unnamed woman. I’ll just have to wait for spring to come.
