aleweavers, or more accurately the 'Order of Taleweavers' is an organization of bards who deal in the collection of and spreading of information.
It took me a great deal of time to learn THAT much--but it surprised me to learn that 'information' was not limited. These folks--and I don't know how many there are--collect everyday information, specifically requested information, and then current events that effect society around us.
How the information is gathered, I'm not quite sure, but I have learned the names and have sketched the faces of a few members of this secret circle. After one of my late drinking sessions with Terrin
, he invited me to sit in on a closed event among bards, held once a month here at the Roadkill Tavern
Not one to pass juicy information, I accepted.
was privy to meeting seven bards that night.
...or at least I THINK they were all bards. Anyway, the following is a partial list--and please take note that these names could be fake--I have no way of telling, other than using my cybernetic ear to eavesdrop on their conversations around the table and at the bar during our meeting.
Oldest and head of the Order--I only got this out of the old bard after an entire night of drinking.
...and spending half my pension check for the month.
Terrin is the most brilliant storyteller I've ever seen, heard of, or known. His abilities and passion for stories fills the Great Hall of the Roadkill several nights a week--and he's been here for as long as I can remember.
Master of Tales
I think this is a self-given name. The kid was cocky at best, but talented. He looked to be around 30 in human years, and at first glance I knew he loved coin.
Nice dresser, shiny new cloak, but I still liked him. He laughed loud and often, was generous in buying drinks (always a plus in my book) and never spoke an unkind word to those present.
Note to Self: watch him closely next time--because I'm sure that necklace placed on the table by Silvertongue was scooped up by this kid. Can't prove he took it--because he's good at sleight of hand.
Next was a bard who ate like he was starving, looked like he'd been through a war, and smelled like he'd never seen the inside of a bath house.
Locke was dressed in leather armor, and brought with him a a heavy bow and double swords--all of which have seen blood and death.
The boy couldn't have been more that 25 at the most, but the lines and scars on his face made him look closer to 50. Sober and straight talking, Locke turned out to be someone I couldn't help but admire.
Thomas the Brown
Now the bard who got my attention was the white-haired old man who had an odd set of tattoos on the back of his hands.
It wasn't until I watched him change the very structure of his own face, that I deducted those tattoos were in reality, runes.
How a human acquired such markings on his body, I was afraid to ask.
Thomas was a kind enough man, said he was 53 this year, and those about the table were eager to let me know that Thomas worked like they did in the olden days--he wandered
Master of Disguises, I learned Thomas was master of the cane--which has allowed him to enter into domains where sword and shield would raise suspicion and close doors.
Another bard who looked to be in his mid thirties was a man known to work for Lords and Kings. Silvertongue looks through the world via political eyes.
Which was sad, because he's an intelligent fellow--but he clearly has lost hope and fallen into the trap of seeing treachery wherever he looks.
You just can't live your life that way.
The youngest was a boy--and I mean that literally. 'The Mason' as the table called him, is referred to as the most gifted of the Order. When I looked to Terrin to challenge that comment, all he did was nod.
Dirty and scrawny, Mason openly admitted to being a pickpocket and living in the streets an gutters of the City of Andilain
. When I questioned his motives, he only grinned and said his 'purpose' was to tell stories to the poor to keep hope alive, not to seek coin from those who cannot spare them.
...so he lives in the streets to help the forgotten to survive.
The only female was a respectful young lady, most likely 20 or close to it--a singer--and from the looks of her, from wealth and privilege.
Dainty with flowing golden hair, she shared that her dream was to see the world out from under the prying eyes of her parents--who gave her a slave named Oman.
Now I'm not one who would tolerate such an atrocity, but that giant of a man loves that little girl. The way he behaves, you'd think Sparrow was his own daughter. i questioned the girl about him and she was quick to express her releasing him from his duties. Of actually paying Oman so he could start a new life as a free individual, but he wouldn't have it. He's bound himself to the girl--and more power to him, I say.
Artwork to be added soon...