4.10 Belgrath’s Visit

Part IV: The Pawn of Prophecy
Chapter 10: Belgrath’s Visit
Timeline: AO 295

The grand hall of Rhokki Pass was ablaze with light and laughter, the stone walls echoing with the revelry of the evening. The occasion was one of great importance: for Kon-Herr Drokka Baldur was throwing celebration in honor of his son Hacktor, who had returned home after years spent in Iztak under the tutelage of Mirkir the Wyze. The elites and royals of Drokka society had gathered to welcome the prince back, their finery glittering in the firelight.

At the head of the hall, Baldur, the now elderly leader of the Drokka, sat upon his throne, a satisfied smile playing on his lips. He had every reason to be proud—Hacktor was not just any Drokka but his chosen successor, a warrior destined to lead their people after he was gone (although he didn’t intend on going any time soon). Tonight, the feast was in his son’s honor, but Baldur, ever magnanimous, had invited a surprise guest to entertain the gathering.

As the last of the servants cleared away the remnants of the feast, a hush fell over the hall. The guests turned their attention to the center of the room, where a figure stepped forward, his presence immediately commanding the attention of all.

Belgrath, the famous Drokka bard, was a sight to behold. Taller than most of his dwarfish race, his dark hair and beard framed a face that could only be described as divine. His eyes, a mesmerizing shade of sapphire, scanned the room with a mixture of confidence and amusement, as though he were fully aware of the effect he had on those around him. He was dressed simply, in a leather breeks and a vest of the same material – the shirt clinging to his muscular frame, revealing his lithe physique.

Belgrath took his place in the center of the hall, his lute slung casually over his shoulder. The instrument was as finely crafted as its player, with a body made of dark wood inlaid with silver and strings that shimmered in the light. He met Baldur’s gaze and offered a respectful nod, but there was a glint in his eye that suggested mischief.

With a smooth, practiced motion, Belgrath plucked a few notes from his lute, and the hall fell silent, every eye fixed on him. He could feel the anticipation in the air, the eager stares of the Drokkina and the barely concealed envy of the Drokka men. Among them, he spotted Hecla, Hacktor’s sister, her eyes fixed on him with an intensity that sent a thrill through his veins. She was beautiful, with the hair of a raven and emerald eyes that seemed to glow as she gazed upon him.

Hacktor, standing near the head of the table, watched with a furrowed brow. His broad shoulders were tense, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. Belgrath could see the jealousy simmering just beneath the surface, and it made him smile all the smore.

Then, with a deep breath, Belgrath began to sing.

In the depths of night, when shadows reign, There comes a light that knows no pain, From the forge of fire, where hammers sing, Rises Baldur, our shining king.

The bard’s voice was rich and velvety, each note resonating through the hall with an almost tangible warmth. The words of the song, though simple, were filled with reverence. From the start, it was clear that even though the banquet was in honor of Hacktor, Belgrath’s song focused on the king – painting a vivid picture of Baldur’s strength and wisdom.

Baldur, Baldur, bright as the dawn, With your light, all darkness is gone, Guide us, lead us, protect our rights, Baldur, Bringer of the Light.

The Drokkina were captivated. Some clutched their chests as though trying to steady their racing hearts, while others stared at Belgrath with wide, adoring eyes. Even the most stoic among them seemed unable to resist his charm. The men, for their part, looked on with a mixture of admiration and resentment, their own voices lost in the shadow of Belgrath’s talent.

Hecla, in particular, was mesmerized. Although she cared little for the pandering lyrics, she couldn’t get enough of the singer and as the song continued, the princess leaned forward in her seat, her lips parted slightly, her breath shallow. Belgrath caught her gaze and held it, his voice never faltering, the connection between them crackling with unspoken tension.

Through the valleys deep and mountains tall, His name is echoed by one and all, With a sword of truth, his hand is sure, In his presence, our hearts endure.

Meanwhile Hacktor’s scowl deepened with every verse, his jaw clenched so tightly that the muscles in his neck stood out like cords. He could see the effect Belgrath was having on Hecla, and it infuriated him. This was supposed to be his night, his moment of glory, and yet here was this bard, stealing the spotlight with a song that wasn’t even about him.

But for Belgrath, this was all part of the fun. He reveled in the power he held over the crowd, in the way he could manipulate their emotions with nothing more than his voice and a few well-chosen notes. He saw the way the Drokkina swooned, the way Hecla’s eyes darkened with desire, and it only spurred him on.

Baldur, Baldur, bright as the dawn, With your light, all darkness is gone, Guide us, lead us, protect our rights, Baldur, Bringer of the Light.

As the final notes of the song faded into the air, a hush fell over the hall once more. For a moment, there was only silence, the guests seemingly held in a trance by the lingering echoes of Belgrath’s voice. Then, as if released from a spell, the hall erupted into applause, the sound echoing off the stone walls like thunder.

Belgrath took a deep bow, a smirk playing on his lips. He could see Baldur smiling warmly from his throne, clearly pleased with the tribute. But it was the reactions of the others that truly pleased him. The way Hecla’s gaze lingered on him, the way Hacktor’s fists tightened at his sides, the way the Drokkina practically swooned in their seats—it was all exactly as he had intended.

As the applause began to die down, Belgrath straightened and caught Hecla’s gaze once more. He offered her a small, almost imperceptible wink, watching with satisfaction as a faint blush crept up her neck.

She was intrigued, inflamed even, and Belgrath knew that this was only the beginning. There was a game to be played here, one of seduction and conquest, and Belgrath was more than willing to play it.

Hacktor, however, was not so easily charmed. He stepped forward, his expression a mix of anger and something else—something darker. Belgrath could see it in his eyes, the simmering rage that threatened to boil over at any moment. But he remained calm, his smile never faltering.

“Your song was… unexpected, bard,” Hacktor said, his voice low and controlled.

Belgrath inclined his head, his tone smooth and unbothered. “I sing what the heart commands, my lord. Tonight, it seems, my heart was drawn to the glory of Baldur.”

Hacktor’s eyes narrowed, but before he could respond, Baldur himself spoke up, his voice filled with amusement. “A fine choice, Belgrath. I would hear more of your songs before the night is through.”

Belgrath bowed deeply. “As you wish, my lord. It would be my honor.”

With that, the tension in the room eased, the conversation and laughter slowly resuming as the guests returned to their revelry. But Belgrath could still feel the eyes on him, especially those of Hecla and Hacktor. The night was still young, and there were many more songs to be sung, many more hearts to be won—or broken.

As he moved to take his place among the other musicians, Belgrath couldn’t help but smile. Although he didn’t intend to stay at the palace for more than a few days before moving on to his next gig, the possibilities here were endless – and he intended to make the most of them. After all, what was life for a bard if not for the pursuit of beauty, power, and the thrill of the game?