A powerful spring wind blows through the rustic streets, shaking the hem of my unwashed clothes.
It is a country breeze with a strong grassy smell, different from the scentless winds of the royal capital or the sea breezes of the far north.
As I walk, I hear light southern accents coming from all directions.
「Damn, why am I in a place like this……」
I am but a humble migratory bird, a bard who sings his way from place to place.
A bard is known for writing songs about great events that go down in history, collecting folk songs from all over the country that tend to be scattered and lost…..
But only bards affiliated with big families can do that.
A small fry bard like me who can only sing a few songs is like a beggar without a place to stay.
If I can’t eat, I will move to the next town, and if I get into trouble, I will move to the next town.
Wherever I went, I was never successful so I can only drift along for the past 10 years.
I came to Torquiva in a horse drawn carriage that happened to be available at the end of the street.
「Ah, my butt is sore…..and I’m hungry……」
I was already 32 before I knew it and the carriage rides that used to be so easy for me were getting harder and harder to handle.
My childhood friends from my hometown at the same age all have grown children already and some may be holding grandchildren in less than a decade.
Ah, what the heck did I do……to drift off to this dank countryside.
The only thing that comes out of my mouth is a sigh and a click of the tongue.
I have no contacts or connections in this city but as a bard, I can’t start anything without heading to a tavern.
I really wanted to retreat to an inn right away but I was afraid that if I stopped moving for a moment, something inside me would snap.
And so, I found a sign in the shape of a liquor bottle after a short walk from the city’s entrance. I swallowed the sigh that almost got out of my mouth and with a mechanical harp(hardy gardy), a memento of my father, in hand, I entered the tavern.
『The beautiful centaur princes～♪ with her mighty bow that her lord gifted her～♪ struck the neck of a hair cutter〜♪ a mighty deed indeed～♪』
Listening to the bard of this city singing using a crude harp in the corner of the bar, I pour down a pint of ale, which is cheaper than in other cities by a copper grain.
While doing so, my right hand did not rest but wrote down the content of the song on a small notepad.
I don’t know when it started but it had become completely habitual for me to immediately write down what I heard from others.
Gathering material for songs is an important job.
For the time being, I’ll probably be able to make do with songs I’ve brought from elsewhere, but I’d like to switch to songs that incorporate information about this area as soon as possible.
There are no specific rules about the content of the song. It can be about anything from beautiful women, weirdos, funny stories, great gambles, defeating monsters, life’s lessons, or injustice in a merchant’s house.
A bard will do whatever it takes to get a little extra money whether it is inflating a little something from a needle to a stick or singing the same thing from a different angle.
I hear some people call us “witnesses of history” but….not everyone can live to write cool songs that will go down in history like love stories of great nobles and the exploits of great heroes.
Those songs are supposed to be written by really talented people and…..we, traveling bards, are the subjects of our songs, which are about trivial stories of various regions.
Silly stories, if I may add.
It’s the kind of thing that doesn’t really need to be sung.
『In the dark and dangerous underground dungeon～♪ A sheepkin has come forward～in search for a stray knight～♪ with a single spear and single light～♪ a horde of ghost sparrows～♪』
I eat the strangely inexpensive meat with bread, pouring it down with ale and taking notes.
Apparently, there are many famous adventurers in this place. The Schenker family seems to be a powerful family here.
「Niisan, I’ve never seen you before, can you sing?」
「Eh? Ah……」
The owner of the tavern, a dogkin guy, brought me another ale while pointing at my mechanical harp.
「How about it? I’d like to hear a song from another city after the one he’s singing right now.」
「Ah, no……not today, my throat is……」
「I see」
I don’t know why. I came all the way here to sing but I just didn’t feel like it.
I didn’t sing until the end of the day……I stayed in my seat until the evening as if I had grown roots and continued to gather information.
I went to the second floor of a bare bone inn introduced to me by the owner of the tavern and crawled into the bed without even opening the cover of my mechanical harp.
I didn’t even feel like organizing the information I had gathered today, I just enjoyed the soft bed for the first time in a long time.
A powerful spring wind blows through the rustic streets, shaking the hem of my unwashed clothes.
It is a country breeze with a strong grassy smell, different from the scentless winds of the royal capital or the sea breezes of the far north.
As I walk, I hear light southern accents coming from all directions.
「Damn, why am I in a place like this……」
I am but a humble migratory bird, a bard who sings his way from place to place.
A bard is known for writing songs about great events that go down in history, collecting folk songs from all over the country that tend to be scattered and lost…..
But only bards affiliated with big families can do that.
A small fry bard like me who can only sing a few songs is like a beggar without a place to stay.
If I can’t eat, I will move to the next town, and if I get into trouble, I will move to the next town.
Wherever I went, I was never successful so I can only drift along for the past 10 years.
I came to Torquiva in a horse drawn carriage that happened to be available at the end of the street.
「Ah, my butt is sore…..and I’m hungry……」
I was already 32 before I knew it and the carriage rides that used to be so easy for me were getting harder and harder to handle.
My childhood friends from my hometown at the same age all have grown children already and some may be holding grandchildren in less than a decade.
Ah, what the heck did I do……to drift off to this dank countryside.
The only thing that comes out of my mouth is a sigh and a click of the tongue.
I have no contacts or connections in this city but as a bard, I can’t start anything without heading to a tavern.
I really wanted to retreat to an inn right away but I was afraid that if I stopped moving for a moment, something inside me would snap.
And so, I found a sign in the shape of a liquor bottle after a short walk from the city’s entrance. I swallowed the sigh that almost got out of my mouth and with a mechanical harp(hardy gardy), a memento of my father, in hand, I entered the tavern.
『The beautiful centaur princes～♪ with her mighty bow that her lord gifted her～♪ struck the neck of a hair cutter〜♪ a mighty deed indeed～♪』
Listening to the bard of this city singing using a crude harp in the corner of the bar, I pour down a pint of ale, which is cheaper than in other cities by a copper grain.
While doing so, my right hand did not rest but wrote down the content of the song on a small notepad.
I don’t know when it started but it had become completely habitual for me to immediately write down what I heard from others.
Gathering material for songs is an important job.
For the time being, I’ll probably be able to make do with songs I’ve brought from elsewhere, but I’d like to switch to songs that incorporate information about this area as soon as possible.
There are no specific rules about the content of the song. It can be about anything from beautiful women, weirdos, funny stories, great gambles, defeating monsters, life’s lessons, or injustice in a merchant’s house.
A bard will do whatever it takes to get a little extra money whether it is inflating a little something from a needle to a stick or singing the same thing from a different angle.
I hear some people call us “witnesses of history” but….not everyone can live to write cool songs that will go down in history like love stories of great nobles and the exploits of great heroes.
Those songs are supposed to be written by really talented people and…..we, traveling bards, are the subjects of our songs, which are about trivial stories of various regions.
Silly stories, if I may add.
It’s the kind of thing that doesn’t really need to be sung.
『In the dark and dangerous underground dungeon～♪ A sheepkin has come forward～in search for a stray knight～♪ with a single spear and single light～♪ a horde of ghost sparrows～♪』
I eat the strangely inexpensive meat with bread, pouring it down with ale and taking notes.
Apparently, there are many famous adventurers in this place. The Schenker family seems to be a powerful family here.
「Niisan, I’ve never seen you before, can you sing?」
「Eh? Ah……」
The owner of the tavern, a dogkin guy, brought me another ale while pointing at my mechanical harp.
「How about it? I’d like to hear a song from another city after the one he’s singing right now.」
「Ah, no……not today, my throat is……」
「I see」
I don’t know why. I came all the way here to sing but I just didn’t feel like it.
I didn’t sing until the end of the day……I stayed in my seat until the evening as if I had grown roots and continued to gather information.
I went to the second floor of a bare bone inn introduced to me by the owner of the tavern and crawled into the bed without even opening the cover of my mechanical harp.
I didn’t even feel like organizing the information I had gathered today, I just enjoyed the soft bed for the first time in a long time.
