Ministering the Minstrel
1945 Day 149
Ralla


	Velgut strolled down a street in Ralla quickly.  The sun was just now setting, and
he was full of energy, having slept fitfully in a field outside of town.  Though walking at
a brisk pace, it was now the second time the poet had walked down this street.  He was
going in circles and he knew it.
	He wasn't looking for a place to sleep, but rather art.  Any art.  Even the smallest
of villages had to have at least one artist.  Normally, Velgut would pass through a dozen
towns without seeing any artists, much less look for them.  However, since the
destruction of Regan, even the solitary Velgut wanted to know if other artists were taking
the death of Liam as hard as he.
	Velgut was about to begin his third romp around Ralla as he turned down a
muddy empty street, when he could have swore he heard footsteps matching his own.  He
slowed a little until he could judge his follower’s distance.  He suddenly stopped and
spun, whipping out his dagger.  His follower immediately leapt back, landing in the mud.
	"Easy Velgut!  My blood is yours if you really want it!"
	Velgut sighed in relief, putting his dagger up.  He reached down to help the other
man up.  "Nashgoln!  Don't you know better than to follow anyone these days?"
	"’Tis dangerous times to be chasing rhymes!" sang Nashgoln.  "Come, let us have
a drink, my poetic friend."
	Velgut agreed and the two strolled towards a tavern.  Velgut was glad to see
Nashgoln alive and well.  He had not seen the minstrel for several years, nor had anyone
he had spoken to.  All had feared the worst for their favorite musician.  The two entered
the tavern and then looked around deciding where to sit.
	"Lots of empty tables, Velgut.  Any preferences?"
	"By the front window.  Easy escape if needed.  Too many people in this land use
dark corners and back doors." Velgut muttered.  Nashgoln laughed heartily and slapped
the poet on the back.  While waiting for their drinks, Velgut gazed at Nashgoln curiously.
	"No need to ask, Velgut.  I know what’s on your mind.  Where have I been?"
Nashgoln grew silent for a moment as the waitress brought their ales.  As she walked
away, the musician looked at her lustily.  Velgut kicked him under the table.  "What? 
Oh, sorry.  Anyone who survives this land long enough to actually grow old has the right
to be dirty minded."
	"No wife I take it?" Velgut asked.  "Or would she matter at all to you?"
	"No wife.  At least, no longer if what I hear is true."  Nashgoln took a sip of his
ale as Velgut continued to gaze at him.  "I settled down about two and half years ago, in
Regan.  I wasn't officially married, but I was deeply involved with Liam.  I can only
assume that she’s dead."
	Velgut downed about half his drink in one gulp before mustering up the courage
to tell his friend.  "She is dead, I just came from Regan."
	"You what?!  How did you get out of there?"
	"I wasn't there when it happened, I came across it afterwards.  I didn't see her
body, but I did speak to a tax collector who saw her die.  I got out of there as fast as I
could."  Thinking of the tax collector, Velgut reached into the pouch he had stolen and
laid some coins on the table.  "Drinks are on me.  Actually, I guess they're courtesy of
Hyru."
	Nashgoln flashed a brief grin.  "And the tax collector?"
	"Let’s just say he went up in smoke." Velgut muttered.
	Nashgoln sat quietly for a moment humming to himself, thinking.  He then
motioned to Velgut for them to leave.  "Come, my young poet.  I think you should meet
some of my colleagues, and find out why I left Regan for Ralla."