The bard without a voice (male)

In this branch of chapters, Patches, the bard, is biologically male. Every future chapter will reflect this accordingly.

The air on the mountain has transitioned to feel more like an early spring, thanks to Vasha's weathering spell with the sun-stone in her grasp. Heading down the mountain with your troupe, you frustratingly strum the strings of your lute, trying to reclaim the abilities you lost in the ruins. Illyana watches you stumble, unaware of your dilemma, as you've yet to tell them; what is a bard without his voice.

"Patches - are you alright?"

You grimace as you turn to the huntress by your side, who tries to console you without the aforementioned knowledge. The pride you once had for your talent felt meaningless, and, without question, the second your party learns what the sun-stone had taken from you, you'll be the butt of all jokes for the remainder of your quest. All you can do is stay silent about what happened, and hope whatever curse is affecting you wears off on its own.

"Fine," you feign a smile, playfully faking the talent you once had as you play a discordant string of chords.

Stargo cringes at the notes played, "I hope that's not the prelude to your next ballad. Yikes!" You know he means well, but respectfully, you'd like the druid to shove off with his jokes. Fighting the urge to tell that to Stargo's face, you look back down, fingering the end of your lute, trying to remember the most comfortable position for your hands.

"We'll make camp up here for the night, and make it back to the kingdom before tomorrow's dusk!" Gargandrogan asserts to the group, turning his attention towards you, "You can play us a tune by the fire, hear that song that's going to make us famous throughout the land firsthand."

***

Finally out of the snow, the seven of you divvied the tasks to set up camp for the night. Even in the dead of winter, Vasha's magic kept the entire mountainside warm, no doubt already causing an effect to the kingdom below. It was truly a quest worth commemorating in song, yet you struggled even to remember the most basic lyrics you had learned growing up. Even the lullabies you had heard as a child were hard to come by in the vortex of your mind. You take a seat by the fire, carelessly stirring the pot of rations and mushrooms gathered from the forest, hoping- silently pleading that by morning you will be cured.

"Vasha?" you speak up, your eyes still transfixed to the pot in front of you.

"Hmm?" she stirs, emerging from a thicket of trees, holding the remains of a white hare by its legs.

"That sun-stone..." you pause, trying to find the words that haven't left you, "What is it capable of exactly? Back in the ruins, you sensed something strange - has it's power waned since we left those ruins?"

Vasha murmurs at your words, repeating them a couple times to herself in order to understand them better. Tossing the rabbit into the pot, she speaks, "Waned is not the word I would describe it as. The sun-stone is a crucible of raw energy, that is certain even now." She too pauses on her own words, parsing them to a simpler vocabulary for a bard, "Back in the reliquary, when I was pulling it out of it's pedestal, something did feel a bit... off. But ever since we've left I've felt nothing more strange from the stone than it's limitless power; not very strange for a big glowing sun orb."

"But when you were channeling its energy you said you felt its... love, was it?" Could the stone have been... cursed?"

Vasha appears almost intrigued by your assertion, as if she hadn't considered the possibility herself, "Cursed? No, no no, I don't think so. Because I've never felt an artifact quite so powerful before, I'm sure I was just a bit overwhelmed by it's energy." She maintains her puzzled expression, curious by your interrogative questions. "Why, what's this about, bard?"

"...I heard a voice," you ebb, "a-a-and I'm having trouble... remembering things since I got hit by that magic bolt."

The elven sorceress' eyes grow wide at the divulgence of information, "Memory trouble? If you're having trouble recalling certain events, you'd best check this out with a priest back at the inner walls." She leans closer to you, taking a short range between you and her tantalizing blue eyes, lightly tugging on your ear to discern your magical aura. "I'm not sensing anything out of the ordinary, could it be, you think, just the stress of getting hit by a limitless magical beam?

"I don't fucking know, you're the sorceress! Am I dying?!" your outburst attracts the attention of some in your party, taking notice of your and Vasha's conversation.

"Calm down! Your not dying, I think," Vasha winks, trying to extort a chortle from you, the unamused bard, "Here, I know just the thing-"

"I'll gut ya before I let any curse get ya first," Zuraugh stomps out from the shadows, taking a seat across from you by the fire.

"Not now, Zuraugh," Vasha lashes back towards the orc, giving a small kick of dust onto his greaves. Zuraugh scoffs, grabbing the ladle in the pot to serve himself a bowl. The elf turns to you, giving a faint smile to your uneasy face, "I know just the thing that will help calm you down."

"I don't need any calming spells-" you're cut off by the sudden intrusion of Vasha's slender hand, pressing against the interior fold of your cowl. Her fingers quickly back-step, tracing down your chest before marking the wrinkles by your waist. "Uhhh, Vasha?" The elf bites her lip as she snakes her warm hands through the fleck of your belt, caressing the modest package underneath your woolen trousers. "Vasha!"

"Hmm?" she coos, as if this were the most normal pastime for two barely acquainted individuals, "Is this not helping?"

"What exactly do you think you're doing?" you surreptitiously rebuke, "Zuraugh?"

"Mmm?" the orc looks up with a mouthful of rabbit stew, swallowing the concoction with a small burp, "Oh, you want me?"

The orc stands on his own two haunches and quickly begins to unfasten his belt, dropping his trousers to the uneven ground to display his large, green, orc c-

"ZUR- WHAT THE FUCK?!"

"Whaaat," the orc bemoans almost innocently, pulling his trousers back up over his overly-defined calves, "I didn't hear what you said, I assumed-"

"You assumed wrong!"

"What's gotten into you, bard!" Zuraugh grumbles, stepping away from the fire to leave you and Vasha alone again. What's gotten into them?! Zuraugh's usual charming attitude toward you had been put on hold, with a much more disturbingly charming attitude taking its place. The orc was insufferable, sure, but he had never displayed his egotistical character with such... deviancy. In fact, your entire party had a strange way of perceiving the current advances on your instruments, finding it no more interesting than the tracks of boar, or a scholarly tome. You turn back to Vasha, who continues to pur on your shoulder, and, while the physical contact is nice and all, its all a little unnerving being the only one out of the orgy loop. This couldn't be a joke, could it? One that had certainly crossed the line by now.

"Vasha..." you say, pushing her gently off your body, "I'm not... in the mood."

The elven sorceress looks straight into your eyes, you half-expect her to chew your head off as she seems almost inseparable from your shoulder. Your not sure which interaction would be more preferable when, with a straight face, she simply says, "Okay." The elf sits upright, straightening her cloak around her shoulders, standing up soon after. She turns back down to you and smiles, "If you change your mind, I'll be over there." She points to her enchanted tent by the far pines before gracefully walking off.

I shall take what is mine, and give another in it's place.

A loss of your musical ability, all for... the insatiable lust by those in your troupe, freely and without consequence? The sun-stone may have been the catalyst, but this was much more than simply 'raw energy'. Something has bewitched you, a magic that seems to escape the perception of others, the perception of a renowned mage; a magic you could exploit...