Bard for Hire

[Don Nadie]

Bard for Hire!

Do you need a jingle for your business?
A pun for your speech?
A sonnet for your beloved?
A jab for your foes?
A tale for your guests?
Then find:

Alejandro Benjazar!

The Well's most veteran performer has already helped many of the most notable heroes, merchants, tragically murdered pillars of our community and heroes-turned-villains. Do you want a sonnet like the one which made the late Ophelia Whitmore be called "the Gilded Bee"? A jingle like the one which aided Torchbearers become known as the greatest explorers? A Tale to entertain guests at your banquets?

There's no songcrafter more apt, no Storyteller more experienced or reliable than...

Alejandro Benjazar!

Contact him in person or send letters to the College of Balladeers.

[OOC: Feel free to write in Correspondence or in this thread!]

[Don Nadie]

[A song rings in the Bellows, for all to hear. Perhaps politics can, sometimes, be turned into Art... Or, at least amusement. Did somebody pay the bard for his mockery? Or was it a charitable act from an irritated Balladeer? Whatever the case,  the jingle was certainly made, a testament of the Bard for Hire]

Estellise, Nadiri,
so smart and so true,
at the Assembly spoke,
well-dressed in her blue.

She stood, oh, so proud
and proudly declared
"The coin from the Well,
is not to be shared!"

"Janissary, guardsman,
who needs them at all?
Nadiri with brooms
shall man every wall!"

"The Banda is unneeded
to spare caravans:
a hundred of bookworms
against Thousand clans!"

And so wise Estelise
concluded her speech
"I want all the money
that is within reach."

Thus came the bounty
to Estellise's chest
Best earned two dinari
for the one who's best!

[Don Nadie]

[Once more, a little song rings in the Bellows as election season heats. Apparently, this time it is dedicated to some manner of trial discussing the Sultan's Behind or lack thereof. A riddle blown out of proportion? Or a fair trial over the Sultan's dignity?

Whatever the case, the Princess's arrival stopped the wheels of Justice. Thus, the singer's voice -  whether hired or for charity - takes to homaging Her Grace and lambasting the proceedings themselves.   

It seems in the evening
while this singer slept
our Princess did save us
as our Justice wept.

A Trial which tried
Gamemistress to choke
sought treachery then
in some stupid joke.

The streets wonder, though
who did this pursue?
Seems Sol Auk denounced
A Golden! Who knew?

Strange, one does think:
the may-be Legate
would seek, from a riddle
"a example to make"

Such strange intrigues
our wise Princess stopped,
Her Majesty against it,
this "example" flopped.

Our slippery pebble
the Bellows then took:
"Wise decision, this",
now claimed the trial's cook.

Should you care for Justice,
my public, you must
remember this song:
the fool and the just.

For we, with the Princess,
together all stand:
none should soil the Trials
of this, our dear land.

[After the trial, it would appear the author and singer gave free drinks to all people in the Krak, inviting them to cheer for the Princess's  wisdom in stopping -according to him- the idiotic use of the institutions of the Well.]

[Don Nadie]

[Another little song rings in the Bellows, the lyrics carefully attached in some of the Well's public boards. Apparently, it was penned after some Janissary made a rather large amount of announcements regarding the crime of littering... Accompanied with some rather dire promises.

The song, perhaps whistled or sung in some inns and streets, has a cheerful cheeky tune, dedicated to the Fourth Legion's efforts to keep the streets clean.

Skitter, crime, skitter,
Janissaries go!
The cultist wont fear them
no traitor's their foe!

They've got bigger issues
our Legion the Fourth:
those daring real crime
they'll face Legion's worth!

Litter, oh, litter,
your times are now past!
No more pamphlets scattered
you've seen now the last!

New heroes are praised
in the Well, evermore!
May this new Cleaning-Crew
handle better this chore!

[Don Nadie]

[Another song soon rings through Souk and Krak. Rumors say the notes were first performed by the mischievous bard to the very subject of the Song, its notes echoing in some dark and empty bar. Later came its moment to shine, performed in the Verdant stage to a much bigger audience and a big stone crowned King.

Perhaps, like fire, the melody may catch those who are angry at the disorder brought by the Legate's decisions, from the temporary legalization of crime to the inscription of the Sabotage's name. Already, in the busy Souk and Well, the melody can be heard echoing from time to time.]

The Pebble, the Pebble
his purse ever swell:
elections he can buy,
his foes, all dispel.
He wrote Sabotage
in our blessed Steele
and thus put our city
in misfortune's spell.

The Pebble, the Pebble
oh dear Ephia's Well
did then make crime legal
in the place we dwell.
He received a preaching
from princess, such belle,
since then new mirages
in the Bellows knell.

The Pebble, the Pebble
quite happy to tell:
"A test all this was".
Does this speech compel?
So sagely, our Pebble,
wants Voiced to quell.
Against him, a toga
may not spare a cell.

[Don Nadie]

[Someone, it appears, hired the bard to write something dedicated to Janissary Kessandra. This anonymous client had a few notes on themes and motifs, but left it to the author to decide the rest.

Thus a sonnet came to be - one which, if rumors is are be believed, was hand-delivered to its subject and, later, to the anonymous admirer. A few times now, copies of it have appeared in the Souk, perhaps spread by this unknown fan.]

A man has now trapped my heart
with eyes to fine for his gender.
When we cross, my chest grows tender,
with love's most deadly dart.

I have paid to state with Art
that now he's no longer slender
his plumpness is a splendor
in which I wish to take part.

Kessandra, my soul you sear:
its my loins your eyes scour
when you search my bags and gear!

Like falfels you devour
consumme me, Kessandra, dear,
for my love cannot taste sour!

[Don Nadie]

[According to rumor, the former Apothar Estellise hired Alejandro Benjazar to craft and deliver a poem which ought to ridicule its subject and encourage them to be humble. The poem was delivered in relative secrecy, leaving one more client satisfied with the Bard for Hire.]

Twirl, twist a-twirling
a Nadiri goes.
Woundrous a-whirling
his folly now shows.

What madness most sterling
may spin in his head?
Is sanity erased
in gyrating dread?

Oh, fearful he swirls
in blue robes of Pride,
without humbling pivots
he won't be a good guide.

The turns of the Wheel
remember he ought,
lest he roll downhill
as power is sought.

While round-round he orbits
his lithe little frame
his face, under mirror,
will not hide a shame.

[Don Nadie]

[Another jingle was heard, this time in a poetry contest hosted on the Verdant Stage. According to witnesses, Alejandro Benjazar used it to open the contest, declaring that he'd be the most foolish, so that all could cheerfully take the stage without fear of doing something silly. Alternating between his own voice and a deeper, more somber tone, with an impish glint in his eyes, the Bard commemorated the Legate's latest announcement: that he wishes to open a brothel.

According to some drinkers in the Krak, he later paid someone to send the Legate the same poem, in a missive.]

A brothel, our Pebble,
is soon to create.
Being slippery already,
he's ready to mate.

Soon into the Bellows
his menu shall boom:
"Six thousand dinari
to come to my room"

Of course, that's expensive
so he'll clarify
"A thousand dinari,
below toga pry"

Enterprise so Golden
has prices for all:
"Just for four thousand,
on knees I can fall"

But it's distant foes
who'll love what he'll sell:
"A few hundred thousand:
you may buy the Well".

Prosperity awaits
our City with him,
but under such Legate...
One may be worn thin.

[Don Nadie]

Meditations Upon the Sublime Garden

[A little poem rang the Bellow after the storyteller, poet and Balladeer returned from the Sublime Terrace, where he was invited after, apparently, a somewhat notable show of Charity. It is said that this poem was sung into the garden, and that he invited other guests to respond in verse, though what they answered is not recorded - or shared for the wider public.]

In garden wide, of myriad bloom
where water sings, vanished of gloom,
the Wheel here turns with kindly pace
and life is lived as perfumed haze.

Oh such the praise of waters clear!
Such fountain songs for few to hear!
Were that such gardens were spread
for weary and lost to rest their head.

Oh, sing, dear bloom and fountain fair
sing of the time when all will share
your bounty this, from earth to sky,
when Bel-Ishun will land from high.

[Don Nadie]

[A poem comissioned by the now Legate Zaniah to her friend, the much-embittered by the election Alejandro Benjazar. Apparently it was sung shortly before the results were announced, and also posted outside the Pyramid. After it, and some conversation, the now-Legate and the bard then embraced in public, before each going their way. ]

[The jingle is another simple tavern song, with some notes telling the reader to use basic percussion to carry the rhythm, from mugs on tables to clapping. Another, like more ironic direction tells prospective singers to "drink profusely throughout the process".]

A toast, then, to Voices
so rarely heard!
A toast to elections
where action is spurred!

The Gold heeds the Wheel
a Spoke met with scorn,
Their temples, with fear,
the faithful adorn.

The Purple seeks winning
with smiles and with charm,
their kind compromises
may heal or may harm.

And White sold so cheaply
lays at Purple's feet.
Alas, when you're stabbed
you can but retreat.

All hopes are now set
on Legate to be:
what promise will stand
when we bend the knee?

[Don Nadie]

Thud's Two Thuds

[A silly, cheerfuly, and not terribly tasteful jingle, comissioned by Recluta Connor Bootpolisher in "tribute" to a Janissary who left the Legion after a series of unpleasant altercations. As requested, the jingle was sung in the Bellows, for all the Well to enjoy or endure.]

Thud, good lad, was ever so glad
that day was Assembly, so none could be sad!
He stood Janissarial, in good armor clad,
and yet did not knew a Nadiri was mad!

Thud, good lad, ever great comrade,
tried to stop an overspeaking fad,
alas, a spell shattered mind not ironclad,
and thus did our Thud on the floor fall with THUD!

Thud, good lad, was angry, a tad,
and went to the Krak to drink like his dad.
But scared of Nadiris with more spells to add,
wouldn't sheathe his weapons, as everyone had.

Thud, good lad, thus made someone mad,
for Banda dislikes disrespect in their pad.
The biggest of halberds on his head felt bad
and that was the second of our poor Thud's THUD!

Thud, good lad, was just far too sad,
the Legion he left, for he'd twice eaten mud,
the lesson we learn from Thud's two big THUDS:
escape before someone a third wants to add.

[Don Nadie]

The Tale of Sabjar Samman and the One Thousand Five Hundred and Fifty Two Worms

[It would appear another satisfied client joins the long list of those who have comissioned from the College's most mercenarious bard. This time, it was a whole tale, performed in the Verdant Stage. Apparently, all that attended left satisfied, their hearts lightened by the story.]

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Read now, you who have eyes, a tale of Sabjar Samman, of endless prowress and virile fertility, father of a thousand bastards! And know this is but one of many, for his achivements are beyond count, and so are his Tales!

Once was Sabjar Samman, of incomparably masculine girth, walking. Under his feet, flowers bloomed, for his fertility is without paragon. And, lo and behold! He came upon ninety-nine hideous hags, crying at the entrance of a cave.

Now, Sabjar Samman is gallant, but he is also wise. And, having more insight and wisdom that all the sages of Baz'eel, his eyes saw that these were cursed princesses! With gallantry beyond compare spoke Sabjar Samman: "Fear not, for I shall save you!"

"Oh, brave Sabjar, whose virile presence makes us quiver with desire! ", exclaimed the hags, quivering with desire. "We have been cursed by the Worm-Witch, who envied our beauty! In this cave she awaits!", the poor princesses claimed, pained and saddened.

And with laughter so loud a spring sprung from a nearby rock did Sabjar Samman descend into the depths of the cave. Oh, how he fought the Witch's worms! Though each was as large as a tower, and each so strong it should take a legion to defeat, Sabjan swung his sword and one after another they perished.

And thus he got at long last to the Worm number One Thousand Five Hundred and Fifty Two. Anf before you ask: yes! He could keep track of the numbers, for he is as brilliant in mathematics as in everything else. And this last worm was none other than the wicked Worm-Witch!

"I shall kill you, Sabjar Samman!", hissed wormishly the Worm-Witch, which was like the others but with a pointy hat, "And then I shall curse all beautiful women to be as ugly as me!"

Now, lesser men would've turned tail. For if a giant worm is which takes legions to defeat is scary, imagine when it also has a pointy hat, sure sign of magical prowress! But what do you think Sabjar Samman did in response of this most heinous of foes?

I'll tell you, dear reader: Sabjar Samman smiled a smile so masculine any nearby woman would've gotten inmediately pregnant... And charged!

What a battle it was! Truly, Agaslakku himself would've struggled to defeat such mighty foe, for she had the strength of ten million worms, and the magics of a million witches!

Sabjar Samman, of course, didn't even break a sweat.For no spell could break his unimpeachable fortune, no ilusion hide from his peerless sight, no enchantment force a will comparable only to the roots of the world.

And wo he won, and emerged to a hundred beautiful princesses who awaited where the hags had been, each more voluptuous and scantly-clad than the one before.

"Oh, brave Sabjar Samman, please take me and my ninety-nine companions", they each said, in unison, "For I know your virility is too much for a single woman to handle!"

And so Sabjar Samman laid with a hundred princesses, each of whom would bear tentuplets, a thousand bastards like a thousand stars.

And after he had laid with the hundred princesses without even needing a moment to get some water or a bit of food, for such is Sabjar Samman's endurance... He left, valiantly, to continue bringing endless prosperity and boundless fertility to all the people of the Disc.

And that was the Tale as it was told, and so... It must be true!

[Don Nadie]

The Creeper

The latest jingle of Ephia's most mercenarious bard was a comission by none other than the still-Legate Qari. It would appear the Ashfolk used some of his inmeasurable wealth to request a piece attacking the Students of Q'tolip. The resulting jingle, meant to be sung in a tone both creepy and silly, was certainly on the scandalous side of things. Perhaps it shall go on to become a stapple of campfire scary-stories, and whistled as Nadiris broom the streets.

A rumor rolls new
and people know fear
as someone in blue
stalks from the rear!

He reaches so far
to grasp what's beyond.
When you touch a star
new hungers are spawned.

It seems, say the wise,
that he's quite the creep!
With magic he spies
when you shower and sleep!

For all you think private
he'll soon reach with glee.
Will you survive it...?
His fingers are free!

Do you have a meeting?
How surely he joins!
He'll come with a greeting,
and fire in his loins!

Assemblies he spends
whispering in the ear
of all those he bends
with counsel most queer.

In a purple garden
he plants his strange seed...
And one wonders when
he'll harvest this weed

Behind mirror-mask
he whispers for power...
So close that all ask:
who bows to his Tower?

[Don Nadie]

Counting on Boops

A Praise of Candidate Margo P. Boop's Intellect in Rhyme to be Enthusiastically Sung by the Adoring Masses

Another mercenarious jingle, dedicated to politics. Praising the intellect of the candidate of the Purple League, Boops Margo, in terms some may find serious and some, a tad ironic. Still, the candidate was greatly satisfied, and used the Bellows to recommend the services of the bard for hire to all who needed them.

A new woman's set
on the Legate's throne,
and ready to sweat
to make her worth known!

She knows so much math,
her intellect keen,
our wealth she shall path
by counting each bean!

Through war and its ruins
shall soon lead us Boops!
The mind of a genious
may well lead our troops!

None else can compete
with her writing style:
accounting falafels
proves her endless guile!

You shall not fear hunger
once you've chosen Boops!
Her sharp arithmetics
can solve how each soups!

So as the vote comes,
Voices of the Well,
think of all the sums
where she could excell!

[Don Nadie]

Into the Clouds

[Another poem dedicated to the local election, this one is an uplifting anthem for the League of White and its candidate, Domhnall. According the singer, an exorbitant sum was paid for this song. But then again... Artists are notorious liars! Whatever the case, another satisfied client.]

When you' re feeling gloomy, your gaze to the floor,
seems you cannot hope either better or more.
And high up above you the stars whisper by
weaving your grim fate, on who can you rely...?

And... Yet...

Lift thine saddened gaze to the clouds up above!
They part for a future we cannot put off!
Even in the worst of the days we can tell
together, we all can make better our Well!

Aspire to your greatness, raise your voice with might!
Remember to speak: it was always your right!
Raise high up the crest of the falcon so White!
the Lilies are there, ready to join your flight!