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   DIR Return to: High Captain Song
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       #Post#: 99--------------------------------------------------
       A Quiet Night
   DIR By: High Captain Song
       Date: July 14, 2023, 10:20 pm
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       -=Docks=-
       At the docks, where the Thassa meets the land
       It is calm in the village by the docks. Too calm. Part of that
       may be because of the new garrison. Several warriors of the
       Vegvisir are manning at the moment, but they are training the
       men of the village in the finer points of combat. Most of them
       are of the North, so they can already fight somewhat, so the
       lessons are going swiftly. Soon they will leave and the men of
       the village will be left to their own devices.
       I can't help but think it's somewhat pointless. Knowing how to
       handle a woodcutter's axe as a killing weapon may help a
       woodsman survive a fight with a warrior if he can put the skills
       of his caste to work cutting flesh instead of wood. There's many
       a deposed noble who learned a sharp lesson about the dangers
       posed by a Peasant revolt when peasants turn sickles and scythes
       against their leaders. Yet will such lessons help against an
       enemy who strikes from the shadows? Will the presence of more
       warriors deter those so determined to see the docks destroyed or
       those who would burn Vegvisir itself?
       I doubt it.
       Still, the patrol is moving around the dark docks, which I watch
       from my inn room. With a wistful sigh, I look to the cittern
       sitting in the corner of the room and I think of how the quiet
       is not only outside the inn but within it.
       Well, am I a skald or am I a skald? Is it not my duty to bring
       cheer to people and instill hope to the hopeless? Dammit, but it
       is. And that is something I can do far better than being one
       more sentinel waiting for trouble that might not be coming.
       With that thought, I force a smile to my face and pick up my
       instrument before leaving my room and making my way downstairs.
       And within an ehn or two, the smile is no longer forced as the
       instrument sings with me as I sing a rather ribald song about a
       slave from the town of Victoria and the unfortunate warrior she
       sent into the skies after he attempted one paricular act of
       "tough love" while she was eating beans.
       It may not be art, but the people know what they like. And the
       laughter does me and them a world of good.
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