home » heroes » betandor battlebard

BETANDOR BATTLEBARD OF THE STARRY QUILL

The story of Betandor is presented as a series of short stories written by himself.

Betandor

Betandor Battlebard I had grown to love music from the cradle. Some say it was because my father was a bard like myself, others because the wild animals of the forest surrounding my home were always making some note which soothed me and made me appreciate the songs of the world. My lullabies were often the sounds of the night forest, since my father was always wandering across the Realms with his lady lyre, aiding those who needed, and entertaining those he met with songs and stories. His meeting with my mother is a source of pride for them both, though a few of the details are still a mystery to me. My father had helped my mother, a ranger, rescue some of her companions after a catastrophic meeting with a giant ogre in the confines of Mistywoods.

Something to do with his songs and a connection they made with my mother made them realize they were meant for each other, though what it is remains a mystery to me because before I was old enough to understand what happened when they met, my mother had gone out to track a drow raiding party which had overwhelmed our small settlement and taken friends prisoner. After she failed to return from her mission, my father, who had been on the road at the time of the incident, decided to do his best to track her using the connection he had with her through the songs. He disappeared whistling a tune of an ancient search, and neither he nor my mother was ever seen again.

Raised by the proud men and women in that small holding, I grew strong in the wild woods which became my life. I had no restrictions or guidance in my life, I did everything. Woodcutting, bartending, farming, blacksmithing, anything to fill the empty longing I had in my heart. Nothing I tried worked, until the day I reached my eighteenth naming day. On that day, as I wakened to the bright sunlight shining through the leaves above my head, even though I had seen the inside of the cottage which I knew as my father's house a thousand times before, I noticed something different. Directly above the place where my cradle was placed, I noticed a small, almost hidden door which I had never seen before. Curious, I pressed the latch, and a treasure greater than anything I had ever dreamed fell into my lap. A fine, hand-crafted lyre, and a small note, sealed with the symbol of a small heart.

Puzzled, I broke the seal on the note, and read the words written on the rolled parchment:

As I touched the carved lyre for the first time, the emptiness inside of me vanished. With the first chord on that lyre, still perfectly tuned after all of these years, the music stole my heart. Playing softly, trying to remember the image of my father and mother, I felt a peace settle over me, with just the notes from the lady capped lyre. As the villagers heard the long forgotten sounds of a lyre from the inside of my parents' house, each one came to stand outside and remember. I didn't see them, I was lost in the memories and dreams which the lyre was showing me. The lyre was magic to me, showing me my father, alone on trails and long roads, in the courts of lords and kings, in battles for his life and the lives of friends, and finally, with his family, around the fireplace in this very house. I saw the image of him writing the note I now held in my hand, and I cried, knowing the difficulty he had in leaving his only son alone for a chance that he might be able to save the woman who meant as much to him as life itself. When the long mournful sounds of that first song faded into the morning air, I packed a few of my belongings, placed the lyre gently in my pack, and closed my father's house in the small hamlet which was the only home I had ever known. As the people saw me exit the village, with the hand-carved lyre of my father in my hands, each one of them gave some small gesture of farewell. Smiling in return, I silently thanked them for all they had done, and stepped into the deep woods, on a quest to learn more about this gift I felt wakening inside me. Following the game trails which had so often been my allies in games with the village youths, I made my way to a place where there was actually a paved road. Not that it was much to look at, since many of the cobblestones were missing or broken, but it made my travels a little easier, since the way was clear before me. Passing through many small towns like the one in which I grew to majority, I searched, questioning some of these simple folk about those with a talent for music. As they noticed the hopeful look in my eyes and the lovingly cared for lyre in my hands, they each suggested some direction, and these often led me to the next town, where I would ask the same questions and receive more guidance and advice from those kind enough to still believe in the dreams of youth. Finally, on a day months from the first day of my new calling, I entered a large city. Guards at the gates looked suspiciously at me, in my torn leather clothing, covered with mud, with only a dagger and a lyre for company, but they let me pass. Seeing a large fountain in the distance as I passed through the gates, I made my way to it and asked my questions again. This time, it seemed I found the needle in the haystack. There was a teacher here, an old wanderer, who knew the way of instruments. Smiling now for the first time in a week, I asked directions to his door, and was delighted when they gave them readily, welcoming me to the City of Splendors. As I entered the street to which they directed, I saw a giant man standing in the alley. It was to him I made my way as the kind folk at the fountain had directed. Stopping in front of the man, I voiced a request to see the master in residence about training in my new profession. This hulk only nodded, and stepped aside so that I might present myself to the man who was to become my teacher.

The Starry Quill

Well met, weary traveler! Betandor, Battlebard of the Starry Quill at your service. Ahhh, never heard of the Starry Quill? Pull a chair closer to the fire, and as soon as we've had a bit of refreshment, I'll tell you of these folk, and others. Barmaid, a flagon of ale for my friend, and a bit of the special you keep under the bar for me. Ahh, the light in her eyes is worth a king's ransom in jewels, it is. Such a beautiful blush on her cheeks too. Perhaps a private song later, Lass, and I'll consider a blush more than ample payment for it. Now, as your eyes can plainly see, I wear a sign of Mystra. How I got it and what its purpose is makes up a tale.

Waking at the first light of false dawn, I felt a warm body pressing against me, almost causing me to forget the fact that I had planned to leave on a long trip to the Dales that day. As I stood and reached for my clothes, the young girl in the bed protested softly in her sleep at my leaving so soon. Giving her blanketed form a small smile and one final kiss, I flipped a pair of delicate golden earrings to her bedside table, and lifted myself out her window to the ground below. She'd be disappointed, I knew, because she and many others had been trying to tame my wild wandering and make an honest husband of me for so long that it had become a personal challenge for them. Grinning in the early sunlight, I stopped at the market square and began shopping for the supplies. While engaged in a spirited haggling session with one of the shopkeepers there, I noticed a blue and white clad form striding purposefully down the street in my direction. After one final argument about the price of the supplies, I threw the gold on the counter and gathered my bundle together, in preparation for heading to the gate. That figure coming at me looked like someone I knew, and those memories were causing me to see things I knew couldn't be.

Her eyes were blue, the deep blue of her robes, or maybe a shade lighter. The hair flowing down her back was darker than midnight, and her determined look meant something all too familiar to me. I was in trouble again, and this time I couldn't get out of it. Her steps slowed as she approached, as though she were studying me and trying to decide if I was about to bolt and run. I'd thought serious on it, because she was dressed in fine silk, and it very well could be that she was the upset mother of one of the girls who had her heart set on making my travel days disappear. However, something in her eyes froze me in place, and a small defiant grin crossed my features as her eyes met mine. Bowing at the waist, I remarked, "Betandor, Battlebard of the Realm, at your service."

She nodded, as though my speech confirmed the identity of that knave she was sent to find. With a voice soft as velvet, she bade me come with her, and placed a hand possessively on my shoulder. This behavior piqued my curiosity, and I allowed her to lead me away from my promised adventure, if only for a little while. Dodging through the growing morning crowd of merchants and shoppers preparing for the day, we did not speak. Her hand shifted on my shoulder when she wanted me to turn, and I flushed angrily at the implied thought that I was nothing but another beast to her. Throwing off her hand, I turned my ice-cold blue eyes on her and spit. "If you have plans of taking me any further than this spot, you're either going to have to start talking, or learn to lift a very angry half-elf!"

Her voice came reluctantly, "You will understand, I beg patience of you only a little while longer." Her eyes held a plea, almost tears. Muttering curses at myself for making the woman cry and another apology to her, I gave her my arm again. Strangely, we did not go in the direction of the Lord's castle, where judgements were given and offenders punished. Instead, we traveled until we reached a tower. At least it looked like a tower, though by the sign of stars above it, I knew it was a temple. A temple to Mystra, Lady of Mysteries, Guardian of the Weave. "Well, that explains something," I muttered to myself, "Next mystery is, what do the priests and priestesses of Mystra want with ME?"

The gate to the courtyard closed behind me. Spinning swiftly, I swore as I heard a click of a lock being thrown. The priestess had disappeared, leaving me alone in a courtyard, with statues of the gods of good arranged in a circle. Selune, Oghma, Tyr, Tempus, Tymora, and all the rest seemed to be staring at a small fountain set in the center of a beautifully maintained lawn. Walking closer, I started feeling the hair on the back of my neck stand up, though I saw no danger. Suddenly, the light of the sun shown in my eyes, and I blinked. When my eyes refocused, I saw a dark-haired woman, in robes of blue, staring into the fountain with intense concentration. She looked enough like the other to be her sister, though this one's eyes seemed older, wiser in the ways of the world in ways that the other might never know. When she heard my approach, he gaze shifted, and my knees unconsciously bent. Kneeling, a trace of the defiance I had shown to the other, I said, "I am Betandor, Battlebard of the Realms, at your service, or your prisoner, based on the fact the gate locked behind me when I walked in here."

I heard laughter in her voice, and music as well. "Rise and know that no harm will come to you from me, Battlebard. I have been watching you, and you would suit my needs admirably."

On guard now, I rose to my feet again. Glancing around the area in search of trickery, I noticed that the sunlight made the expression on the statue of Oghma look quietly approving, while it seemed a flicker of the breeze and leaves from a tree made the form of Corellon's elven form almost drop a wink. For some reason feeling more at ease, I stood and addressed my hostess again. "My Lady, if I must know what it is you require, before I may answer to service one way or the other." Hearing a soft chuckle, I glanced up and met her eyes. "Not that serving one such as yourself would cause a problem, as I have the highest respect for ladies." This caused the chuckle to become a full laugh. And it sounded as though others were laughing as well. "You do have a way of putting meaning into words, and this is what I require. I need a historian, traveler, and speaker for the Realms that surround us now. I need someone to find the ancient magics, and record them for future generations. I need a leader who knows the people, lives their lives, feels their sorrow and their joy. You alone seem to fit these requirements, and after speaking with others of my circle, they approve of my choice, though they wish they themselves had thought to appeal to you as I have."

I blinked, confused. Glancing around the courtyard, I saw the circle of statues again. Taking greater notice of them now, I that saw they were detailed by a master of the craft. Almost lifelike, I felt eyes upon me, glancing from one statue to the other. They seemed to stand in judgement of me, and of my continued purpose in this life. Suppressing a shiver of discomfort, I finally noticed just why this place, this temple of Mystra, seemed so wrong. Of all the gods represented in the stonework, Mystra did not appear, not once.

Peering at the woman suspiciously, I saw she held a delicate chain of silver. Hanging from it was a circle of stars, the symbol of Mystra. I bowed my head, kneeling at her feet. "My Lady, I would be honored to serve you." Feeling strong fingers slipping the chain over my unbound hair, I grinned. Suddenly, the ground shook, and a voice with the high-pitched scream of a madman spoke, "He's MINE, Midnight.you can't have him!" A cackling fit followed this, and I glanced up to find a dark-clad figure standing over me, glaring at the woman, no.not the woman, the goddess, Mystra. As her hands rested on my shoulders, I was frozen in place, as though a pawn on a gameboard. Feeling a comforting presence squeeze on my shoulder, I glared at the man standing over me. "I have chosen the Lady. I know not who you think YOU are, but if you don't desist in bothering her, I'll do my best to remove you from her presence."

"He's got too much spirit for you," the dark man cackled again. "Let me have him, for old times sake."

Mystra shook her head, making a warning gesture as I tried to get to my feet and draw my dagger. "He is under my protection now, Cyric. He has chosen, and the gods will abide by the decision." At this, the god Cyric glared at me, cold enough to freeze the blood in my veins. Teeth chattering, I glared back, as best I was able, and felt the warmth of my goddess' touch removing the taint of his gaze. Finally, Cyric howled a curse, and dared to attack Mystra. Her spells used only to hold him off, she had a gleam in her eyes that looked like a cat toying with a mouse just before she ate him. Finally, a booming voice spoke from the other side of the courtyard. "Enough! Know that the bard has chosen, and that none shall sway him from his course. If there be punishment for this action, and those that follow, only I, Tyr, the God of Justice and the Balance, will decree punishment." As the pair nodded, Mystra glanced once at me, then stepped forwward. "Tyr, Cyric has just tried to destroy one of my following with magic. Only with my aid did the bard live through the spell, and I deem it appropriate that Cyric be withheld from using the Weave for a period of one year." At his nod, she made a magical gesture, which caused Cyric to howl in pain. His form shifted, the aura of godly might flickered for a moment. Then, glaring in Mystra's direction, he disappeared in a flash of light.

When my eyes recovered, I noticed that I was once again alone in the courtyard with my goddess. She bade me sit, while she undertook to tell me those things that please her, and those which do not. After my nod of acceptance of those terms, she cleared her throat quietly. "There are many spells and tales of magic hidden throughout the Realm. You, my bard, are best suited to finding and preserving these spells. This is your task, and as a symbol, you will revive the ancient order of the Starry Quill. They were scholars, and found much history, preserved in my libraries, and those of Lord Oghma. As this was a dangerous undertaking, they were partnered with the Knights of Mystic Fire, paladins in my service, and the Order of the Shooting Star, rangers who serve as advanced scouts and slayers of evil beings caused by the misuse of the Weave by those seeking destruction." Seeing a gleam of a challenge in this, I grinned my battlebard grin once more. "I would be honored to serve, My Lady. I hope that you have more patience with me than those others who would have claimed my service. Battlebards are rare creatures, and tend to do things in a very unorthodox way. Those who know me well, know that I never allow a woman to be insulted or harassed by a man, always try to assist those less fortunate than myself. This behavior causes many problems, and causes many to abandon me as insane, almost as bad as Cyric himself by their thinking. I suppose that would be what drew him here, even though it seems you two don't get along now. I've heard the tale of that as well, and this will be just another reason that he hate you. Know that I give my heart to service, and will do that which I am able to advance your cause. I may end up closer to death than you would like, but that is my own choice, since nothing worth doing is not worth dying for. Service to you, My Lady, is worth that. I believe it, or I would not be here now. If I might further explain with a song, perhaps you will understand some of my motives for what I do, and who I am." At her nod, I pulled a battledrums from my pack, and started to sing quietly.

As the final notes drifted in the morning air, I whispered, "Remember, that the song doesn't end until the echo of the last bard's voice fades into dreams." Bestowing a smile of warmth and a feeling of well-being, Mystra slowly faded away. Giving a final salute, with a tap on my drums for her patronage and protection, I turned and walked back into the life of the market.

So ye see, my friends, that even a battlescarred soul like mine is worth something to someone. She's probably regretted having me as a servant occassionally, but for some reason, I can feel she cares for me. Mayhaps I'm her black sheep, and she tolerates my behavior because she knows if she tries to change it, it'll kill me. I'm uncertain, but for all that, I do serve as best I can. I suppose that's all any woman wants, be she goddess or mortal. To give of yourself, and take in equal measure, a partnership that none can take from the two of you, less you want it so. I trust in her, she in me, and until the day I finally stand in Nirvana, that's just how things are. Seems the bar has closed around us, and so I'll bid you good night. Lass, bring a sip of something for yourself, and a bit of my special brew as you see those folks to their rooms, then come back and listen as I sing you a song of dreams.

Betandor and Lorelie

It was as though some force decided I had suffered enough.
Instead of pain and sadness, she brought (both) joy and love.
Why a girl so young would want an old bard like me
Was beyond my reckoning and none could help me see.
She'd walked up to me, standing in the Market Square.
I'd noticed eyes of deepest blue and a thatch of straw blonde hair
Twas not the outward look that drew me like a moth to flame
But inner strength and will, and untold sadness-world to blame.
We talked for only short time, her name was Lorelie
She told of her growing up, and how she'd came to be
Then dropped voice in fearful glance, while shaking very hard.
Confided that she, full blooded elf, longed to be a bard.
A kindred soul, blood mixed or not, I saw a challenge there
Her eyes, so wise in face so young, drew me with a stare.
I saw my hand reach out to her, I saw her press my palm
The fear left her eyes then, replaced by stoic calm.
From that first touch, I wondered, just how we came to be.
This scarred and wounded Battlebard, and Lady Lorelie.
For once we touched, I felt a stir, deep inside my heart.
That wounded, torn, unfeeling ice was melting apart.
We've traveled now for many days, shared our fears and joys.
Fought battles, and had quiet times, away from fighting noise.
Twas in the course of one of these, when she feared for her life.
That my heart stopped and I proposed that she become my wife.
I'd not done this in many years, I could still taste the pain
Of broken heart and bitter tears that fell like summer rain.
With her small nod, I'd swept her up, and held her in my arms.
None would frighten her again, or bring her to harm.
With promise made, and friends informed, news spread far and wide
The Battlebard would marry, and Lorelie was his bride.
Fearing that some from her past would mar our wedded bliss
We went off in deep of night, to a hill damp with mists.
Met there with a wandering priest who asked if hearts were true
We swore before him and the gods we'd be forever two.
We married under stars in mist, my tiny Siren and I.
Our love will last long while we live, and after we both die.