Everyone Needs Love

(Jig's Account, +75 xp)

Bark Shinbone, a Half-Orc of
few words but a lot of heart.

Vaulting up on to a bar stool with surprising agility, Jig accepted a mug of foaming Dwarven ale from Bark who looked grimly ahead. Perhaps helping him wasn’t going to be within her purview after all. 

“So, what brings you here?” she asked, when what she actually meant was “Why am I here, and just where are all the exits, because you look like you’d turn mean faster than a copper piece flips,” as she eyed the scars criss-crossing Bark’s broad arms.

“You good with words, yes?"

“Indubitably, it is true. I mean, yes, yes I am," Jig said, a tiny balloon of pride rising inside, then bursting into flames when she recognised that Bark seemed to have issues with words of more than two syllables.  

“Bark need help." 

He pointed to the yellowed parchment posted above the bar. "Someone good with word."

Jig sidled in closer, and kept her voice low. 

“Tell me more. Is it something dangerous, or illegal? Or a matter of the heart?" she added the last part as an afterthought, while starting to compose potential ransom notes and death threats. Though he didn’t seem the sort of fellah who’d bother with missives in those circumstances. Just punch through the walls and keep going…

Bark ducked his head and shot a glance in Wylla's direction. 

"Heart," he whispers. "Can trust Jig?"

“Absolutely,” said Jig, “hand on heart. Cross it, hoping to die, etc etc, just ideally not too soon. Go on...."

Jig noticed that Bark was sweating profusely, but not like he was lying. Ah ha!

“Bark like Wylla. Wylla...not know."

“Ah, well she's a fierce and admirable woman. I understand, my friend. So you need some words to woo her?"

“If Bark knew, Bark would not ask," he shrugged. The gesture made his shoulder muscles ripple like a sheet of metal being reforged. Jig reminded herself to be respectful, as she sensed that perhaps his cogs were turning fairly slowly in this unfamiliar area, but his up to speed reflexes meant he’d squash her instantly if she cranked his mental gears too quickly.

“I'd be happy to help. Pen a sonnet maybe, or just say it plain? Plain I think. Let me come up with the right words. You look like a fighter to me, which isn't my speciality of course. Maybe some day you'll be able to come to my rescue, eh?”

“Bark good at fight, not good at words."

“Sorry Bark, I got carried away by the romance of it all!"

Bark sighed. "Me too, Jig, Bark too."

"I need to go and prepare, I'll return soon with a plan. Good?"

"Bark be here." He stared forlornly at his ale. 

Jig’s plan formed quicker than a skin on a bucket of catoblepas milk. Little point spending time and parchment on an ode for Wylla if she couldn’t stand the sight of the barbarian, and it would be time for a different strategy, called “Jig Saves Her Own Hide, Again,” plan. So it was time to quiz the target, as surreptitiously as she could. 

Wylla was humming to herself, evidently still pleased that the various creatures who’d previously inhabited their storerooms had been dispatched. Jig started by complimenting the breakfast.

"Oh, you've very welcome, my little friend. My grandfather and I very much appreciate all the help you've given us so far."

“Ah, you're so welcome. It's been very interesting here at the tavern so far, meeting a lot of new comrades! I often have to travel alone, which of course gets lonely but I have little choice. What keeps you here at the Tavern, apart from your grandfather of course?" 

So much for subtlety. 

Wylla stopped to consider. "Well, it is nice to have a home base, I suppose, and to be surrounded by familiar faces. I'm sure you've felt the same?"

Usually when Jig was surrounded by familiar faces, they were significantly taller than her and the faces were various shades of puce, and raining down spittle as they detailed the circumstances of exactly what they’d just discovered she’d done.

“Oh, I do. I miss terribly some of the ones I left behind, but... well, you know how it is. I sometimes wonder if I missed out on something I should have held tight to... well, someone..." she blustered on.

“I do travel at times, of course," says Wylla. "But I always return. There is no bed like your own."

Cogsprockets, she was going to have to drag it out of her. 

“True! Though sometimes I think about sharing it with someone...! Hah! You know what I mean?" she nearly added a wink but thought better of it, as she saw a rosy blush sweep across Wylla’s high cheekbones. Ooh, now that was promising. 

"Oh I fear I've overstepped! But the blush becomes you..."

‘Yes, well...was there anything else you wanted?" 

That was Jig’s cue to move to the next step of the plan, and she backed away, her eyes dancing around in dramatic, searching sweeps of the tavern, which were less than effective from her low vantage point, she couldn’t see much of anything.

“I was just wondering where your grandfather is. Won't take up any more of your time, as I know you've patrons, nay regulars, to tend to - you've a couple of fairly stoic, dependable ones here eh.”

“Ah....well, Grandfather is just that way," said Wylla, frowning, pointing at Unwin who sat in a shadowy corner of the tavern, a book in hand. 

"And, er, yes, we have lovely regulars here at the Wyrmspine," Wylla agreed, with an involuntary glance towards the bar.

Jig clocked exactly what the great Elf was reading and hid a smile. 

“Greetings Master Unwin, I hope I'm not disturbing your study. May I ask what you're reading?" He was lost in a popular and extremely soppy romance novel – one of her own favourites – and over his shoulder, in the distance, Bark was giving her a hard stare over his ale. Possibly wondering why she’d been talking to Wylla. Hadn’t considered that. On with it, then!

She cocked her head at Unwin's voluminous sleeves, where he’d slipped the book. 

“What a glorious engraving! I do love the classics, that depict the vagaries and vicissitudes of the heart - surely we all need some reassurance that the hearts of men, and elves, and all other races, can indeed be true, isn't that so?" Other races specifically including barbarians. Big ones who were starting to send dagger glances, and maybe would graduate to the metal kind.

Unwin looked a little puzzled, but was prepared to indulge the gnome. “Quite so," he said, "there is nothing like love to keep the world going."

Jig was prepared to exploit his old romantic foolishness. 

“Everyone needs love! So true, you're so wise. I wonder, Master Unwin, has love come to visit the Wyrmspine tavern these past years? I sense that maybe there's some romance in the air, could I be right?"

Unwin looks around, obviously confused. “If you're speaking of me,” he chuckled, “I'm afraid those days are a bit beyond me now. I haven't the energy. I'm 350 if I'm a day.”

“Well you don't look a day over 320! Sure I'm 197 myself!” Jig needed to get him back on track.

“Hmmm, though I could be older. I'm not really sure." Yup, no, he was drifting now… “Besides which, I can't say we get too many adventurous older ladies that frequent the Wyrmspine. Mostly young whippersnappers these days.”

Jig tried another tack. 

“I've seen enough wasted opportunities in my life to know when maybe someone needs a little push... have you ever thought that?”

Now the archmage was peering around in confusion. Like she’d literally asked him to push someone. 

“Like your granddaughter. She's a fine young woman.”

Ah, the dawn of comprehension spread over Unwin’s lined face.

“Oh, yes, Wylla, she's a strong young lass. It would do her good to find a bit of romance. She's a bit serious, that one. Very like my daughter, her mother. They're both druids, you know.” Jig hadn’t known, but that was a useful piece of information she filed away.

“She'd need a strong man to keep up with her, of course.”

“She may not look it, but she could knock most of the men that come in her for a loop, let me tell you.” Jig didn’t need telling. Both Wylla and Bark would deck her if she judged this wrong. 

Right, next stage of the plan. 

Jig moved closer to whisper conspiratorially, then realised she’d have to stand on the table to read the elf’s ear.

“I couldn't possibly break a confidence, but I feel sure that if she maybe looked a little CLOSER, she might spot something she's been missing... or rather someone... someone really rather solid... right there...” she gestured across the bar, but her arm slowed when it passed Bark, like a needle compass wobbling to settle on true north.

“I do hope you're not speaking of Amon. He's solid, I suppose, but he's not very...talkative.”

Jig swallowed an expletive.

“Heavens no. He's the ‘not strong yet silent’ type. No, there's another who's granite-like in his affections, but hasn't the way to let his love know...”

Now, to reel the archmage in. He could obliterate Jig in seconds but she’d seen his soft heart. And he had maybe just started to notice that his granddaughter could maybe have, could need, a life of her own. 

Jig tried to make herself look dreamy eyed but mostly went a bit cross eyed.

Unwin was moony enough for the pair of them, and didn’t notice. 

Hook.

“I feel that perhaps some of my particular skills could be useful here, as I've a way to bridge a communication gap, if only I had enough talent to lay it out beautifully. I'm sure the Elf wrote gorgeous missives to the Maiden but the scrivening isn't in my gift.” She was laying it on thick…

“Ah," he says, leaning in, “you know, I've thought about writing my own book for years. That's why I learned Calligraphy, you know. The words should be beautiful not just in form but in function, don't you think?”

Line.

“I'd love to have a skill like that. Would you show me?”

“Hm, well, yes, I could, I suppose. Do you have that Calligraphy set you found in the spider's web?”

Sinker.

“I have it right here!”

A pleasant hour passed as Unwin first taught Jig about the delightfully quirky history of calligraphy, and couldn’t conceal his delight at how quickly Jig progressed – a forger’s hand turning fast to the curliques and flourishes.

“I declare you’re my best student ever!” Unwin proclaimed and didn’t flinch when Jig requested a sample of Bark’s handwriting to copy as practice, even though it more closely resembled squirrel scratches on birch bark than any art form. Jig put her mind composing the perfect words for Bark to woo Wylla and win her heart. 

Bark Shinbone watched Jig approach, and downed the rest of his Dwarven Ale in one go.

Wound tight as a crossbow that one. Jig almost bruised her hand when she attempted to pat his arm reassuringly, it was like a hessian sack filled with cannonballs. She placed the poem in front of him.

“Bark, this is for you to give to Wylla. It's my words, in the shape of yours. But it's your feelings, so you must muster all of your courage, and deliver it to her yourself.”

“Jig sure about this?”

“I really am.”

Bark took the letter, trying not to crumple it in his big hands.

“I'd never lie about love, Bark,” Jig added, and as she said it, realised she was telling the truth.

Bark walked over to Wylla. 

Slowly. Very, very slowly.

Like a man going to the executioner.

“Wylla, Bark have something for you.”

He handed her the letter.

Wylla took the letter, looking slightly confused but blushing a bit.

She unrolled it and read it.

Wylla fill ale in mug

Bark big heart string tug.

Wylla never true look here

Bark always hold her dear.

Wylla quest to lands far

Bark wait. Bark wait at bar. 

Wylla blushed beet red.

“Oh, Bark! I...didn't know.”

Bark blushed dark green.

“Bark...love Wylla. And Wylla...?”

Wylla vaulted the bar and grabbed Bark in a huge hug, and Trimble the Bartender clapped and cheered. 

Jig breathed out a low 'yessssss’ and wandered towards her room. Before she could reach the stairs, tiredness creeping into her bones, a beaming Wylla came over and laid a hand on the wound that Jig had sustained from the spider. She hadn’t noticed how much it was hurting, but Wylla made quick work of it. 

The relief was genuine, and heartfelt, from them all. 

“Thank you Wylla! My heart is indeed full now.”