With apologies to John Linnell and John Flansburgh
Author’s Note: Readers are encouraged to play embedded songs as they appear and read along with the proceeding lyrics.
The talent was late.
The talent was always late. But for Laurel Pearlblossom, stage manager and event coordinator at The Birdhouse of Soul, that evening’s act was getting dangerously close to that terrible moment. The moment when the talent would be irresponsibly, irrevocably, irredeemably late.
Which meant that as the dragonborn carrying a guitar case crested the nearby hill and came into eyeshot, Laurel should have been relieved. But it’s not a stage manager’s duty to feel relief, not until the curtain falls and the draughts can start flowing. So, she gestured madly in silence toward the dragonborn, hoping he would pick up the pace.
Yet again, she got her wish in the most excruciating way. He offered a polite wave and kept his casual pace, this time heading straight for her.
The sun had already dipped beyond the horizon, its jagged edge framed by the towering pines that separated earth and sky. A river flowed peacefully down through the town of Branchport, broad and gentle alongside the idyllic homes and public spaces.
“You’re on in ten!” Laurel shout-whispered, yet another valuable tool in her stage manager’s kit. “I hope you can live without a sound check.”
A soft, disarming smile spread across his snout. The dragonborn bowed his head gently, still towering over Laurel. “It won’t be a problem. I have a pair of ears inside already, and they’ve assured me the acoustics are divine.”
“They better be, because otherwise you’ll be begging for some divine favor.” It was neither threat nor warning. The crowd at the Birdhouse wasn’t particularly unkind to any acts that bombed on-stage. But the casual ignorance of live talent is a special kind of devastation for a performer.
She led him backstage, where the dragonborn laid his guitar case upon a table like a parent putting a child to bed. There was a hushed reverence in how he unclasped the cover and lifted the lid. As the case split in half, Laurel quickly realized that it contained not one, but two instruments. The dragonborn’s size had fooled her eyes into thinking the case was much smaller and thinner than it was in reality.
But that didn’t matter. She could hear the opening act, a four-man band of orcish drummers, finally wind down their set.
“You good to go there, buddy?”
His posture relaxed as he lifted the guitar’s strap over his shoulder and hung it off his broad frame, fingers reaching up to tune the strings. The dragonborn plucked a few with his claw, making adjustments after hearing the not-quite-sour note. “Just about.”
“Any requests for lighting?”
“A single spotlight for most of the show should be fine. Keep a second on standby for the last song, though.”
Laurel stifled a sigh.
Bards, she thought with an edge of disdain. But she wouldn’t complain. If it weren’t for these fools, she wouldn’t have a job.
She reached her hand up to her ear, touching a magic stone resting comfortably within. Upon physical contact, it emitted a light blue glow, searching for sound to pick up and send to her partner running the lights.
“Headliner showed up. Nothing to prep on our end. Single spot for most of the show. Keep another spot ready for the last song though.”
“You serious?” he replied. “Nothing fancy, just a spot or two?”
Laurel glanced toward the dragonborn, who flashed a gleaming fang and winked. “Yep, you heard that right.”
“This guy really think he can carry the whole show on his own?”
“Sure sounds like that’s the case,” Laurel said, choosing her words carefully so as not to casually insult the talent.
Uproarious applause blasted the backstage as each of the four orcs began thundering their way out of view of the audience and back to the green room.
“All right, mister, uh–”
“Just Urvosk is fine,” the dragonborn said.
“Right, Urvosk. Head through this hall to get to the left wing. We’ll give you the cue to walk on.”
Urvosk slid the strap over his shoulders and couldn’t stop himself from grinning as his hands slipped into place on the instrument. “Perfect,” he said. “Thanks for the help.”
And with a nod, he disappeared to wait within the wings, stage left.
The Birdhouse of Soul was packed. A late summer evening was already the perfect time for a show, and the rumors about this particular performance had been spreading for weeks. A diverse crowd, too: Humans, orcs, goblins, tieflings, bugbears, dwarves, even a few rare dragonborn had arrived.
The venue itself managed to fit several dozen patrons while still feeling cozy. The polished wooden walls, magically-operated chandeliers and vaulted high ceilings allowed for that “small town tavern” vibe while still selling tickets to well over a hundred attendees. Closer to the stage, a handful of rows of velvet chairs faced it directly, while the rest of the venue was populated by semicircular tables angled toward the talent.
Even then, the rumors still spread within the theater.
“Is it true, he only plays once a year?”
“I heard there’s some kind of twist, like he plays four instruments at once.”
“A friend told me he uses magic to bewitch the crowd.”
Urvosk’s man in the audience couldn’t help stifling a laugh, coming out more as a snort. As usual, the headliner’s reputation had unfurled into some sort of local legend. Some of them weren’t far off, but no one would be getting bewitched that night. Not unless the music truly moved them, though in that case, they’d only be bewitching themselves.
The lights were already dimming. The staff were ringing their bells, signaling an end to the break between acts. The energy was, at last, beginning to rise.
“I was here last year,” one voice said. “I came back to hear that story again. I think it might be true.”
He couldn’t help but interject. “Why would that matter?” he asked.
The speaker, a young greasy-haired tiefling, stuttered in response. “Well, I, uh, I think I want it to be true.”
“Why’s that?”
“It’s hopeful, you know?”
“And if it weren’t true, would that change anything?”
The tiefling paused. “I suppose not, really.”
“Sounds like your belief in the story matters more than the truth,” he said.
The tiefling winced, letting out a forced chuckle. “I, uh, guess so. But…shouldn’t you be on stage?”
“I’m right where I need to be.” He flashed a smile.
The lights grew as dim as could be. A hush moved over the crowd.
The show was about to begin.
But as the moments passed, the stage remained empty. Not even a spotlight for the performer. Just pure stillness and barely-restrained quiet. Someone cleared their throat. Another stifled a cough.
And then, two ephemeral, luminescent hands appeared at the center of the stage, just in front of the curtain. They began to clap. Slowly. Almost insultingly.
A few members of the audience picked up on the hint and began clapping along. Encouraged, their neighbors followed suit. As more and more of the crowd began to clap along, the hands picked up the pace until what was once a cloyingly slow beat became lively and energetic.
The hands onstage stopped clapping, pointing their fingers upward and conducting the audience, drifting further away from each other…until two more appeared and resumed clapping, each pair framing the empty center of the stage.
The spotlight, at last, shined on that lonely point, revealing a bronze dragonborn holding a guitar, just behind a Staff of Vocal Amplification that stood freely on a flat base.
And he began to play like a madman.
Fingers deftly sliding up and down the neck of the guitar, claws carefully plucking each string with perfect timing.
The more magically-inclined recognized those ephemeral hands as a common spell: Mage Hand. But if the dragonborn was playing while directing those hands, there was an impressive amount of skill on display here. Because another pair of hands had already manifested, drumming on the base of the guitar for an extra layer of percussion.
Soon, the crowd was in perfect sync with the beat while the melody danced back and forth between its own high and low notes. Repeating little musical phrases here and there, shifting up or down an octave.
As the song reached its climax, the performer’s fingers plucked individual strings rapidly, moving in melodic circles, until at last he began to repeat the same notes that opened the song.
With one final strum, each of the Mage Hands faded into nothingness and the dragon took a bow.
The crowd broke into enthusiastic applause.
At last, the dragonborn lifted his head up and addressed the crowd, his voice magically echoing throughout the venue thanks to the Staff’s listening crystal.
“Thank you kindly. My name is Urvosk, and I hope you’re not too disappointed when you find out I used up all my talent on that opener.” He winked at an onlooker. Few in the crowd knew whether to take his words seriously, but it did garner some quiet laughs from the back.
Urvosk began noodling on the strings, weaving together some simple melodies as he spoke.
“I’d like to thank you all for coming out tonight. It’s a rare opportunity that I get to put on a performance like this, and I very much appreciate your attention. I hope you find my little show inspiring, and that my story sneaks its way into your heart.
“Now, before I get into the meat of the thing, I need to do a bit of scene-setting. You see, not terribly long ago, our continent had a bit of a dragon problem. And when you’ve got a dragon problem, you also tend to have a kobold problem. Kobolds flock to dragons and do their bidding. Usually.
“And then, somewhere in between, you’ve got dragonborn. Like me. Maybe you have a dragonborn friend. Maybe you know the words. And if you do, feel free to sing along.”
Urvosk let loose a smirk visible from the back row: “But for the rest of you: Pay attention. This is very important.” And he began to sing:
Kobold man, kobold man
Doing the things a kobold can
What’s he like? It’s not important
Kobold man
Is he a mook, or is he a wreck?
When he’s told to swim, does he get wet?
Or does he get swallowed instead?
Nobody knows, kobold man
Drag’nborn man, drag’nborn man
Drag’nborn man hates kobold man
They have a fight, drag’nborn wins
Drag’nborn man
Dragon man, Dragon man
Size of the entire continent man
Rarely kind to smaller men
Dragon man
He’s got a clock with a minute hand,
Millennium hand and an eon hand
When they meet it’s a toasty land
Powerful man, dragon man
Human man, human man
Hit on the head with a frying pan
Lives his life in a garbage can
Human man
Is he depressed or is he a mess?
Does he feel totally worthless?
Who came up with human man?
Relatable man, human man
Drag’nborn man, drag’nborn man
Drag’nborn man hates human man
They have a fight, drag’nborn wins
Drag’nborn man
And with the final, concluding note, the crowd broke into applause again. Though, not quite as excited as his opener. That was to be expected, of course.
“If there are any humans in the crowd tonight who are upset by that last verse, I’d like to apologize for any hurt feelings. On the upside,” Urvosk said, claws casually noodling again. “At least you didn’t end up like kobold man – in a dragon’s stomach.”
That got a few laughs and perhaps diffused a little tension.
“But now everyone knows what we’re dealing with. Kobolds: small, insignificant, subject to draconic dictatorship. Dragons: Huge, magnificent, and not very good at caring about smaller problems. And dragonborn: Cool. Good at fights. No other comments.”
Some genuine laughs at that one.
“In fact, I’d like to tell you about a particular kobold who I’m rather fond of. He was silver-scaled and short in stature, impossible to pick out of a lineup of other kobolds. And one day, this kobold decided that serving just one dragon wasn’t enough for him anymore. He wanted to serve as many dragons as he could – and spread the word of their deeds to all the towns and villages of the continent. He wanted everyone to know what amazing things dragons could do. And he could think of no better way to share the news of such deeds than the power of song.
“But every time he wandered into a village, carrying all of his instruments, nobody there wanted to hear about what amazing things dragons could do. They were all much too busy with their own problems, and they were quick to share them with the kobold.”
Urvosk reached up and affected a swoon, the back of his hand to his forehead, while two new Mage Hands continued noodling on the guitar.
“‘My husband killed my lover in a jealous rage!’” he said with a melodramatic wail, then crossed his arms. “All my crops turned rotten and I have no harvest this season.” And at last, a flex of his bicep with a shake of his fist. “I haven’t been able to hunt for weeks, and it’s all that direwolf’s fault.”
He brought his hands back to the guitar, picking up the pace from the Mage Hands, which dissipated in a cloud of mist.
“Now that little kobold thought: ‘Enough is enough! I know exactly how strong and powerful a dragon is! I am SURE that a dragon could solve every single one of these people’s problems. They’re magnificent! Omnipotent! And they can even breath fire!’”
Another smattering of laughs.
“So the kobold asked the villagers about tales of a dragon nearby. And it took a lot of investigating, but he did eventually hear of a fearsome dragon that made its home at the top of the largest peak in the nearby mountain range. It would be a journey, but these people had to know about what a good dragon could do…even if it meant climbing until his body gave out.
“He spent hours hiking and climbing, carrying every pound of his one-man band further and further up. Just when he felt like he was about to collapse and expire right there on the mountain trail, he heard it. The sound of a massive creature slowly breathing.”
Urvosk’s guitar noodling began to coalesce into a melody. A sort of call and response. A few notes here, echoed back there. As if the tune was talking to itself.
“A dragon! At last, he began his song, walking into the creature’s lair with his fingers plucking away on his lutestrings. And as he grew closer, he saw that massive red snout lift up. Eyes open, focused on him, sizing him up, maybe even considering a snack.”
art by bluescale
Urvosk affected a deep growl in his voice, hunching over to make his silhouette more beastly than before. “The dragon bellowed ‘Who dares disturb my slumber?!’
“And with a slight tremor of fear in his voice, the kobold responded in verse:”
Hi, I don’t know your name
Oh well then
My point is
Hi, your breath’s on fire
Oh damn, you must’ve got some of that
Combustible breath
I heard a parable all about it
You’re on fire
You’re on fire
I won’t lie
You’re on fire
As the song broke into the chorus, Urvosk’s man in the audience started singing backup, throwing his voice to make it impossible to pin down exactly who was singing. Even better, some of the crowd joined in…
Combustible breath
I won’t lie
Combustible breath
I won’t lie
Combustible breath
I won’t lie
Combustible breath
Hey, how’s it shaking
Is that your hoard they’re taking?
I’m pretty sure that’s your hoard
Oh, they’re gonna strike there
Whoa, your breath’s on fire
Oh damn, you must’ve got some of that
Combustible breath
I heard a parable all about it
You’re on fire
You’re on fire
I won’t lie
You’re on fire
Combustible breath
I won’t lie
Combustible breath
I won’t lie
Combustible breath
I won’t lie
Combustible breath
The sun is low
My music is extremely proud
You’re hard to get to know
But you’re easy to spot in a crowd
As I’m sure you’re aware
You’ve got some of that rare
Combustible breath
I heard a parable all about it
You’re on fire
You’re on fire
I won’t lie
You’re on fire
Oh damn,
Oh damn
you must’ve got some of that
You must’ve got some of that
Combustible breath
Combustible breath
I heard a parable all about it
Combustible breath
You’re on fire
Combustible breath
You’re on fire
Combustible breath
I won’t lie
Combustible breath
You’re on fire
Combustible breath
I won’t lie
I won’t lie
I won’t lie
I won’t lie
This time, upon striking the final note, Urvosk unleashed his own weaponized breath, to impress rather than harm. Not quite fire, but arcs of lightning and sparks, each dancing through the air and sputtering out safely above the crowd. Once more, the crowd burst with applause, roaring at the sight of such natural pyrotechnics.
The first few songs in his sets are always designed to win a crowd over, before he started truly tugging on their hearts. The infectious rhythms, the displays of skill, there was a level of persuasion to them. More of a “Here’s why you should listen” than what they should listen to.
But now, of course, he had them in the palm of his hand.
He hunched forward, taking his hands off his guitar, parting his lips to show each and every sharpened tooth hiding in his maw.
“And so the dragon brought himself closer to the kobold…and he said: ‘That was quite the impressive display, little snack.’”
He mimed picking up the kobold by the scruff of his neck and peered closely at him.
“You have earned a few moments to explain your purpose in coming here.”
Urvosk mimed tossing the kobold over his shoulder before launching back into the narrative, getting a few chuckles from the audience. “And thus, the kobold did explain! There are so, so many misfortunes that have befallen the villages near the dragon’s lair. And who would be in better shape to solve these problems than the dragon?”
He resumed his pantomime, holding the kobold between his claws. “Perhaps I could, but why would I? What have these villages done for me?”
“The kobold was awestruck, shocked! ‘Why, didn’t they shower you with enough gold for your hoard? Didn’t they offer sacrifices and gifts in appreciation of your power?’
“But the dragon laughed! ‘Those villagers despise me. They think I razed their fields or killed their pets. And they were only right to blame me half the time.’” Urvosk puffed out his chest and lifted his head, affecting the body language of a highbrow noble. Certainly not what a real dragon would do, but a reasonable facsimile for people frustrated with the wealthy.
“Now the kobold didn’t plan on this. He didn’t think a dragon, powerful and mighty, would turn down such a request. Especially when it would be so trivial to fix all these problems. He was so despondent about it, he didn’t even realize that the dragon was still speaking to him…
“‘I ask you, snack. What have YOU done for these villages? Why won’t YOU solve their problems yourself?’
“Now, the dragon was simply teasing, but it got the kobold’s gears turning. Sure, he came to the dragon so he would help, but could he solve everything himself?”
Urvosk crossed his arms over his guitar. “And here I must pause to inform the more ignorant of you. You see, this dragon was red. Chromatic dragons, red ones among them, well…they’re not all evil. But they are more statistically likely to be evil. And our little silver-scaled kobold and his own metallic draconic kin…they tend toward cooperation over conflict. My fellow bronze dragonborn included.”
Urvosk made eye contact with his man in the crowd for the first time that night, flashing the barest hint of a smile before continuing.
“Not to mention, as a kobold, there’s a drive inside him to find a dragon and bolster their greatness. There’s no filter there for good or evil. Even the most noble of kobolds might end up serving an evil dragon. It’s a physical drive.”
“Like sex!” a heckler shouted.
“Exactly,” Urvosk said. “Though often less messy. But not always.
“Suffice to say, and to oversimplify, the kobold had spent his whole journey to visit an evil, selfish dragon. And as his mind began to piece together his reasoning, he found a melody from deep within.”
He pantomimed setting the kobold down and grabbed the neck of his guitar once more.
“And so, the kobold sang from his heart:
Lately I’ve taken to going and roaming,
Repeatedly combing for people moaning and groaning for help.
Now your perfection does not mean affection,
But rather convection, yet I wish instead you would help them
Scale and claw do not talk
But your eyes synchronize with a secret rhythm
Which is a way one could say that
I trust you for biological reasons
But is it not that we’re taught it’s our duty to plot
Fortune fraught with struggle for civilization to fail
Can’t we enable the willing and able to turn back evil,
My dream is a fable with feeble wings
Why does the bold share a mold with the Old,
They won’t say but they feel their feelings
Doesn’t subtract from the fact that
I trust you for biological reasons
Reasons I can’t really go into now
Reasons we should probably not get into right now
I’m ashamed to admit I’m afraid of assuming the
Blame for my lame conflagration of greatness and flame.
Save for our goals, if our roles were reversed, I’d rehearse
What I’d say to dismay, and display that our deeds should not scar.
Flammable undiagrammable sentiments pass between similar beings
Hard to explain but it’s plain that
I trust you for biological reasons
Why does the bold share a mold with the Old,
They won’t say but they feel their feelings
Doesn’t subtract from the fact that
I trust you for biological reasons
Reasons I can’t really go into now
Reasons we should probably not get into right now
Another round of applause erupted from the crowd as Urvosk once again affected the posture of the larger dragon, waiting for the sounds to fade before he finally unleashed the dragon’s reaction upon the story.
“‘You say you can’t help serving a dragon,’” Urvosk said before shifting to mimic the kobold, who nodded vigorously. Then back to the dragon’s looming posture: “‘But still you wish to be a part of something…constructive?’”
Again, Urvosk nodded as the kobold, drawing a few chuckles.
But as the dragon, he let out another burst of lightning and sparks from his mouth. “Foolish creature!” he bellowed, voice echoing throughout the hall. “‘You dare enter my domain and presume to dictate how I should use my superior power?’
“And the dragon slammed his hand down on the kobold, trapping him underneath his palm. It was at this moment that the kobold thought to himself: Perhaps I have misjudged this dragon’s character.
He thought about the journey that led him here, the people he wanted to help, the deeds he wanted to commemorate, the kind of dragon he wanted to follow. Life flashing before his eyes. You know,” Urvosk gestured vaguely. “The usual.”
Urvosk plucked a few strings, milking the moment for its melodrama.
“Knowing his life depended on his next words, the kobold chose them carefully: ‘Is it not the duty of the powerful to protect the weak?’
“The dragon laughed. ‘It is the prerogative of the powerful to use their power as they please!’”
“‘But,’ the kobold said. ‘The powerful cannot remain powerful forever. In time, all things grow weak. Plants, creatures, even things like wealth and property lose their power over time. Even the immortal will still find themselves static as the world grows around them. If it’s the fate of the weak to depend on the strong, then it’s a fate that each of us will share.’
“The dragon frowned, but allowed the kobold to continue. ‘All that we living creatures really have is…each other. What we do for each other becomes our legacy. And mighty dragon, I simply wish that through you, I will be remembered for prosperity and compassion, rather than horror and torment.’”
Urvosk strummed a chord and let it fade over the next few seconds. “The kobold’s words struck the dragon more sharply than he could have anticipated. How much terror had he inflicted upon his neighbors? How many winters had he made harsher by burning the fields in revenge for a slight upon his honor? When the people looked toward the peak that he made his home, would he be remembered for his strength and ability? Or his flames that consumed what they held so dearly?”
He began plucking at the strings once more, a gentle, hopeful looping melody.
“And when the dragon looked inside himself, he knew the answer. He did not want to be seen that way, not anymore. But it would take a long, long time for him to redeem himself in the eyes of the people near his lair. No, it was time for a fresh start.
“‘You have opened my eyes, dear kobold,’ said the dragon. ‘And you deserve better than to serve under a dragon like myself, confused and blinded by his own ability. No, you deserve to go out and be remembered for your own deeds, with your own choices, rather than share a meager portion of fame for…biological reasons.’
Urvosk built upon that looping melody, picking up the pace and adding a bit more urgency to it.
“The dragon channeled ancient magicks, a spell thought lost long before, not seen in centuries. A spell that most dragons wouldn’t dare use. A spell to make two creatures…equal.”
His strumming became rapid, fingers dancing up and down the neck of the guitar.
“The dragon began to shrink and the kobold felt a growth spurt, freed from beneath the dragon’s palm. The color of their scales shifted, merging to match each other with a handsome hue of tarnished bronze.” Urvosk winked.
“The kobold felt a surge of power and magic within him. Not just the strength of his growing body, but the knowledge of years of experience, a trove of philosophy pondered by the dragon, now shared between them.”
He kept playing, walking off the stage and down the center aisle, the spotlight managing to follow him. “This transfer of power continued until at last, it became a trickle. As the spell finished its work, there were no longer a dragon and a kobold there in that lair. Instead, there were two identical bronze dragonborn.”
He stopped right next to his man in the crowd, and a few people gasped.
“Isn’t that right, my good sir?”
He reached his hand out, and his audience plant grabbed it, standing up into the spotlight.
Just as promised, the two of them were identical, impossible to tell apart. It was as if they were both fashioned from the same mold. Tall, bronze-scaled, horns sweeping back from their heads, all atop a powerful frame.
“Sounds correct to me,” said the second Urvosk with a mischievous grin.
The first slid his guitar strap over his head and handed the instrument to the second, who resumed the song that the first was playing, perfectly naturally.
The first reached out and tugged on the collar of the second’s shirt. “‘Aren’t you looking handsome now?’” He glanced back to the audience. “…said the former dragon to the former kobold.”
“‘Careful,’” said the second. “‘Let’s not be too hasty with the narcissism.’” The second glanced toward the audience as well. “…said the former kobold to the former dragon.” Another wink. He couldn’t help himself.
The second began walking toward the stage once more while the first slipped out of sight.
“‘And so, we are each reborn, made better by each other,’ they agreed. But before they could go and perform good deeds in their own name, they needed to decide upon such a name. It needed to be appropriate, but still suitably draconic.”
The second took his place onstage, using his foot to slide that Staff of Vocal Amplification gently to the side…right as the first emerged from backstage with a second guitar on his back and another Staff in his hand, planting it onstage, symmetrical with the first. Lit by a second spotlight, at last.
“Perhaps it should start with Ur,” said one. “The draconic prefix for ‘new’ or ‘original.’”
“And maybe it should end with -vosk,” said the other. “An old dialect’s word for the self.”
They began playing in sync, one as lead with the other responsible for rhythm. But at the end of every few measures, they’d switch roles, perfectly harmonized.
“And if we’re going to perform good deeds for the people, should we not learn their ways first?” asked one.
“A fantastic idea, but there are so many disciplines to choose from.”
“But now we both share the same passions, don’t we?”
“That we do! We’ll just have to find the perfect match for our interests.”
Then, it became clear they were building up to their next song.
“How about a paladin? Their oaths are dedicated to such noble ideals,” said one.
“Too zealous though. We need something fun. Maybe a warlock?” asked the other.
“I’d like a little more independence, personally. A sorcerer, perhaps?”
“But isn’t that a little…stereotypical? There must be somewhere we can learn our trade and the ways of the world.”
“Why, I think I’ve got just the thing in mind…”
I got handed a Tethrin pamphlet
straight from the hand of a cleric so bland
I asked the lass to pass me a glass
of Choosing Your Major And Your New Subclass
right away they dragged me out of the city
to condemn my anti-clerical activity
they’re gonna see they’ll have their regrets
if they’d only let me play my full sets
I’m not partial to the martial
or the sorcerers, and their orderers
and the fighters have the armor
but I just don’t need the armor
what I care about is music
and the colleges have the music
I hear a melody
and just as suddenly
I know who I’m
supposed to be
I don’t need a libation
to play the song of creation
I don’t need to pull out my thunderclap
To make you put on your thinking cap
I’m not jealous of the zealous
or the wizards with their blizzards
and the fighters have the armor
but I just don’t need the armor
what I care about is music
and the colleges have the music
yes the colleges have the music
oh the colleges have the music
I hear a melody
and just as suddenly
I know who I’m
supposed to be
I’m not partial to the martial
or the sorcerers, and their orderers
and the fighters have the armor
but I just don’t need the armor
what I care about is music
and the colleges have the music
yes the colleges have the music
oh the colleges have the music
And with that last strum, each of them took a bow, just in time for the crowd to go absolutely wild with cheers. The roar shook the foundation of the Birdhouse of Soul itself.
The first Urvosk gestured to the second, who took another bow. Then, the second gestured to the first, who bowed in turn.
The two of them conjured some ephemeral clapping hands, and – after a silent countdown with each other – fired one last burst of sparks and lightning from their mouths.
Each spotlight quickly dimmed until the only illumination left was from those arcs of lightning. They slipped into darkness and the applause faded until the house lights finally returned.
The two dragonborn had disappeared from the stage.
Laurel slid the modified sending stone out of her ear and crossed her arms as she arrived backstage to see the two Urvosks putting away their instruments.
“Keep a second spotlight ready,” she said, shaking her head. “Coulda told me that there were gonna be two of you. I would have had another Voc-Staff ready, and you wouldn’t have given my poor sound guy a heart attack.”
The Urvosk on the left smiled and bowed his head slightly. “Apologies. But wasn’t it worth it for the surprise?”
She ignored the question, posing one of her own. “How exactly am I supposed to tell the two of you apart?”
The Urvosk on the right stepped forward and offered his hand. “Urvosk the Eloquent,” he said. “A pleasure.”
She shook it while the other dragonborn approached. “Urvosk the Incisive. Charmed by your acquaintance.” He lifted her hand to his mouth and gave it a polite kiss.
Laurel had to admit, it was a flattering display of introduction. Fortunately, the Eloquent interrupted whatever she was about to stammer out in response.
“It’s a fairly rare occasion for the two of us to meet up. I apologize you have to deal with our nonsense. But it’s a tradition to play the Birdhouse once a year, pro bono, in return for the hospitality the people here have showed us.”
“You don’t…do this act anywhere else?” Laurel asked.
The Incisive shook his head. “Much too busy. Plenty of things to do. Always nice to catch up with someone so like-minded, though.” He clapped a hand on the Eloquent’s back, who snorted and rolled his eyes.
“Things to do, people to influence, enemies to thwart, adventures to be taken. Nothing terribly unusual.”
Laurel stroked her chin. “That story, about the kobold and the dragon, it’s not…true, is it?”
The Incisive grinned at his twin, then turned to Laurel. “And why would that matter?”
Laurel pursed her lips, opened them to reply, and found herself speechless. “I guess…I just wanna know for sure. Is it a metaphor? A prince and a pauper thing, one of you was a rich noble who gave the other a bunch of money?”
The Eloquent pondered the idea, then shrugged and nodded. “Not a bad interpretation. I kind of like it,” he said, turning to the Incisive.
“Would it change anything if it were true? Would you behave differently?” asked the Incisive.
Again, Laurel found herself at a loss for words, but a meager portion of annoyance at them both. “I suppose not,” she said in a conciliatory tone. “Maybe I’d have a higher opinion of dragons, I guess.”
“And I suspect the opinions of dragons themselves would remain unchanged,” said the Eloquent with a smirk. He snapped the guitar case shut. “But the work is done, and we have so much to catch up on. Shall we get drinks, Urvosk?”
“Why, I do suppose we shall, Urvosk,” said the Incisive, fangs gleaming in the subtle lighting backstage. “We will see you tomorrow for the matinee, Laurel Pearlbottom.”
“Pearlblossom!” Laurel fiercely corrected. “And you better be here at your call time!” She nearly shouted as they walked toward the venue’s attached restaurant.
The two turned back and grinned.
Said one: “We’ll be here exactly–”
“–when we’re needed,” said the other.
Orcanist 