The Battle of the Baron's Bards
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It began with a challenge— a declaration echoing through the cobbled streets of the city, carried by swift-footed messengers: a bardic duel, a contest of wit, cunning, and melody, to unfold beneath the grandeur of the People's Palace.
As the sun dipped low, gathering crowds mirrored the tension between the blue-hued Delzulds and the green and and white-clad Braerwinters. Upon a stage of makeshift grandeur, the emissaries of each noble house emerged, embodying the contrasts between their lineages. Killian Mennick, a figure of suave aristocracy, his auburn moustache rivaling the allure of legendary heroes, donned resplendent blue and brown attire. His demeanor exuded readiness, his lute poised as a beacon of charm. Opposite stood a young maiden of blonde locks, whispered to have found her way into the fold of Braerwinter after her retinue caroused within a rustic tavern. While Mennick meticulously tuned his strings, she, clad in the weariness of the road, appeared ill-equipped, her sole companion a modest bottle of wine.
The ensuing battle unfolded as a testament to the refined artistry patronized by nobility, epitomized in Mennick's virtuosity. With every chord, he commandeered the stage, while his opponent's verses and melodies felt coarse, akin to tavern ballads rather than the refined tastes of the nobles. Still, the assembled throngs were treated to a spectacle of poetry, melody, and charm, rumored to have captivated even the palace balconies.
In the end, the laurels of victory were bestowed upon Mennick, his triumph resonating amidst the raucous cheers of his retinue. Yet, as the fates would have it, Tempus, in his capricious wisdom, ordained a final act. Amidst Mennick's revelry, one of his own compatriots hurled accusations and barbs, igniting a tempest of discord. What should have been a crowning moment for House Delzuld devolved into strife—a clash of blades between erstwhile minstrels. As the audience converged upon the arena, the night bore witness to a spectacle of sorcery and steel, a maelstrom of combat. In a twist that defied expectation, the tavern maiden, dismissed by even her Braerwinter kin, emerged triumphant. With blade sheathed, she departed, leaving Mennick to nurse his wounded pride amidst the debris of a shattered illusion.