Sight of the Bard

Reward: dead or alive; the drawing composed of a young mans face, wavy hair and piercing eyes. The poster hung on the wall of the town square advertisement board in Orrinshire. The man that looked upon it turned to his pet rat that hung out on his shoulder, handing it a piece of cheese.

"That looks nothing like me Bartholomew," Ander Sarsword said as he ripped it off the wall, crumpled it into a ball and tossed it in the trash bin.

"Yes, you're right. It needs you added to it. You are definitely a good partner." Ander continued seemingly answering the chatter from the rat as he ate his cheese.

Ander ran his fingers through his wavy blonde hair before he leaned back up against the wall his poster was once hanging on. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his pan flute made entirely of kazoo's strapped together. He began to play a soft melody drawing attention from the passing crowd. He stopped playing, smiled at the crowd, using his charisma to charm them free of their coin. He went on to play a bit more before he had enough laying at his feet to secure a decent meal, some supplies, and a resting place at the inn.

Ander slinked through the crowded inn and walked up to the barkeep handing her a few coins. She in turn handed him a key, a small drink, and mutton stew with a small piece of bread. He took his gatherings and sat at the stool just off to the side of the bar. From where he sat he could easily watch people as they came and went, leaving him free to enjoy his meal while still staying vigilant.

"There's only one room left," he heard the barkeep tell another set of travelers as he finished his meal.

Ander left his dishes on the counter where he had sat, pushed the stool back quietly, and made his way toward the back toward the stairs. He passed by the barkeep as she whispered tales of the rise of Abbadon to the new travelers that sat listening to the story. He rolled his eyes, turning to Bartholomew, and with a chuckle opened his door.

"A god will rise with a vessel, Bartholomew. Weary travelers looking for fame and glory still buying that old wives' tale." He spoke as he took off his jacket.

Bartholomew ran down Anders shoulder and made his way over to the nightstand where he chattered in what appeared to be a response as Ander shook his head in agreement. Ander took a seat looking at Bartholomew before handing him another small piece of cheese out of his pocket.

"You're right, too long here. We will move swiftly on at first light. Any longer and we may be requested to pay taxes." Ander laughed at the thought.

***

A bard turned thief and rogue, Ander once lived a simple life singing and playing at the highest positions of his hometown. A dispute with the lord over taxation being theft caused him to be turned to the streets as a wandering musician just to make ends meet. Every chance he got his hands were in the pockets of the tax collectors, returning what he felt was owed by their thievery.

Ander preached to the poor as he sang his tunes of taxation theft by the royals and their need to keep the poor man poor. He was quite the favorite until the lord of his region decided enough was enough and put a bounty out on his head. With a tip of his hat, and a wise slip of his tongue, he charmed the lords guards into escorting him through the gate, instead of to the dungeons. On the run ever since with his pet Bartholomew the rat, he would move town to town, singing of the glory of a life without taxes.