Diaries of the Royal Bard, 1st recorded entry

From the archiws of the Imperial library. Rverwd auly ufor te emperor amd wis mest loyol seveents awd adisors.

Al-esh we call her. She stands there on a Golden Hill, allying with all men, and some rebel mer.

High Highness we call her, but we are no more than rebels, and she no more than a slave-queen.

Paravant we call her, and she stands there, fighting for us.

The First, we call her.

And she has visions from the gods.

She sent me to Lipsand Tarn, or Soapstone Delve, to ‘put my skills to use’. I did, of course. I will not even try to write his name, but he had a pointy face like all of them, and a grey beard. A rare thing among the Old Masters. He was a traitor to his particular king, and he promised me that he knew a secret way into the Temple of the Ancestors. I don’t believe him, but if it’s true, then we might see that tower afire yet.

When I came back, even the news of my success didn’t cheer the queen up. I’d told her she needed me, and she ignored the fact, so she payed for her ignorance. Even so, I tried my best. I talked to her, wrangled a few smiles form her, but she didn’t brighten up. When smiles aren’t available, tears will suffice. That’s what I told myself anyway. I hit an especially sad tune and began singing about the sacrifice of the dead. It dampened the mood for all of Sancre Tor, but when I was done I told everyone that if we don’t fight on, our sacrifice will have been for nothing. That seemed to work.

Now I sit on this Golden Hill, doubting the outcome of our fight. Morihaus told me that we would win freedom, and Al-esh promised me that she had seen another champion coming, covered in Ayleid blood. I look out over hundreds of campfires now, so I am unsure what one man could do to make a difference. I got myself in this though, and people even look up to me, be it only in a figurative way.

The Royal Bard they call me, but I’m just a rebellious boy with a lute.

The Singer of Freedom they call me, but I sing only songs that I know, songs about servitude.

The Tongue of Queens, they call me, but their queen can speak for herself just fine without my help.

They call me a Hero of Words, but I am not a hero and I want to sleep now.