This one I think presents best with some of the back story as intro, then the short story, and then some follow up backstory.
Thelonious is an addict. (He prefers the name Gruv by the way, but nobody ever calls him that, but he thinks of himself in that name.) He could be a great musician. It’s in his blood, or so he’s been told by his grandad that left him his enchanted Lute(probably stolen). The problem is that Thelonious is a hardcore addict to not just one but many vices. Booze, smoke, things you eat that do things to you besides nourishing you, and of course women. These vices tend to get in his way a lot when it comes to getting ahead in life. Once a promising student(for like a week) of the College of Lore, and determined to become "World Famous Bard", those endeavors were short-lived. He was admitted not due to being a great musician, although he did have talent, but because he showed some innate magical ability. That being so rare in Asterion, it got your foot in the door almost anywhere. That's basically as far as it got him before he promptly got the boot though. The instructors tend not to look too kindly on you showing up to class with a wench from the local brothel on one arm, and a mostly drank jug of mead being waved around belligerently by the other. They look even less kindly on it when you throw up all over the priceless enchanted Viol they had brought to class to demonstrate the proper way to play The Sonet of Eponine.... Twice. His argument that it couldn't be that enchanted if a little regurgitated mead did that much damage to it did not go over well, and so he became drop out(kicked out actually).
These kinds of shenanigans tend to hold Gruv back a lot. Especially when it comes to that whole “become a world-famous bard” endeavor he’s always prattling on about when he gets on one... or two…. Ok let’s be honest it’s normally at least 3 or 4. The hold up there is Thelonious… sorry Gruv has a temper.
It's hard to commit to an instrument when you're constantly breaking it, and this is the general blight of Gruv’s existence. He's always breaking stuff. Usually his, but not always, which of course is a problem as well. You see, it's very hard to learn the lute. Even if you have grandpa's magical lute that was passed down(probably stolen) to you. Even more so if that lute was just smashed into the face of someone who insulted your performance of Serapsis Redemption. This is, in fact, what Thelonious has just done. The real problem with splintering your treasured family heirloom to pieces across the face of a half-orc is that.... well first. You now have no more lute. Much less one that was handed down to you by your pappy. Repairable?... Yeah, probably not. Part of it is embedded into the face of the half-orc(good luck retrieving those bits), he swallowed a good portion of the rest(yeah you don’t want that back) of it just to spite you and show you how little it actually hurt him, and at this point, you hold in your hand a piece of wood with a few strings and splinters hanging from it. More likely to hinder your ability to attack or defend rather than help it. You should probably drop it and run now…
The Sundering of Jones:
Thelonious burst out the door of the tavern! The remnants of his pappy’s lute jangle from his hand and tangle around his ankles, causing him to trip and fall face-first into the dirt. The Lute(well what's left of the Lute) almost seems to try to consciously roll away from Gruv but doesn’t get far. It is a tangle of strings and wood at this point, so it doesn’t really possess the physical attributes of something that can roll. Gruv immediately forgets about this though, as he has just realized that he left his bag in the tavern, and that bag has… well not much in it, but it does have his gold, and he needs a fix. Bad. He quickly rolls over and assesses the situation. He can see the Orc, well Half-Orc(yeah right Gruv thinks that guy is huge) from the waist down walking casually towards the batwing doors of the tavern. They swing open a few times in the wake of Gruv’s exit and with each swing open he can see the Orcs expression gradually turn, in cut frame animation style, from a frown into a smile as he sees Gruv lying prone on the ground, appearing to be just waiting for the inevitable beating he is going to receive. Gruv mainly has his attention focused on retrieving his gold though.
He’s trying to get his orientation so he can figure out where he is now in relation to his bag. Let’s see, it wasn’t by the stage where he had just performed. A quite good performance if he did say so himself. He’s not generally good at taking negative feedback anyway, and he does admit this, but right now was not the day to be laughing at his rendition of "Serapsis Redemption”. Most of his songs were about Serapsis because well, she was the goddess of wine, and so Gruv most closely identified with her outlook on life/the afterlife/whatever she liked Wine, he liked Wine, that was enough for her to become his favorite among the many gods of this world. Regardless, he was jonesing hard, and that made him…. Well let’s just say cranky. THE TABLE! That’s right he had left his bag on the table with his drink(wait... did he finish it?..)
He sees his move. It’s risky, and it’s going to hurt, but he should survive. The table is to his right just on the other side of the tavern window. He had picked that one so he could watch the whores across the street without being harassed for gawking at them without payment. He had been beaten up for that before. Several times. By the whores. Sometimes the Pimps, but usually just the whores. Hey, the whores of New Devas were used to fending off much more dangerous foes than Gruv, and could generally handle themselves in a fight. He was honestly more scared of them than this Half-Orc when it came down to it.
He waits for the batwing doors to swing shut one last time and rolls to the right as they do. He’s hoping the effect will be that the Orcs' view will be obstructed enough that he won’t be able to see which way he has rolled, and hopefully, this will buy him a few extra seconds. He gets up and looks at the window of the tavern he is now standing in front of. He knew already it was not a window that opened, and so had already determined he was going to have to dive through it. With a grimace, he hurls himself forward through the window; which he just now realizes he’s probably going to have to pay for, crashes over the table, spilling his drink(goddamnit), and falling with a painful crunch(was that his flute.. Goddamnit again) onto the tavern floor.
He did manage to grab his bag in the tumbling mess that was supposed to be the slick retrieval of his loot, followed by a triumphant wink and smile to the Orc, as he finished his drink and jumped back out the window. Yeah, it didn’t quite go down like that. The smell of piss, blood, vomit, booze, and whatever else gets tracked onto the floor in a place like this on the boots of its patrons, is so strong in his nostrils that it makes him dizzy, and he actually stumbles a bit from it when he gets up. Gods, that was foul. He could have sworn he saw an eyeball(real classy establishments he's been frequenting as of late) under the table as well, but can't be sure since the smell drove him to his feet faster than gnomish thief(damn he hated gnomes). After staggering for a moment, he bumps into a wall and braces himself… Wait, that’s not a wall. It’s the half-orc, and now he’s really smiling.
Clearly not fooled by what Gruv thought was a pretty slick move, the Orc had just watched in amusement as Gruv threw himself through a window back into the tavern, and then incoherently staggered right back up to him. Goddamnit. A moment later Gruv is tossed back out the window(a different one that he will also have to pay for) by the Orc and back into the street. Landing conveniently enough right next to the remains of his precious Lute.
“If it’s so precious why did you use it as an ill-conceived weapon?”, Jones says inside his head with his typical noble accent.
“Shut up Jones”, he yells back out loud.
This causes several people to turn and look at him, as seeing someone tossed out of this bar isn’t necessarily something that is worthy of even turning your head to look at, if the victim starts acting crazy, like say starts having an argument with themselves, then maybe it’s worth taking a gander. At the very least to see if you need to move further away from what is about to be probably a pretty entertaining shit show. No, Gruv isn’t crazy, he’s a junky. When he’s really jonesing, that means he’s not currently high, drunk, or between the thighs of some other distraction, he tends to start to question himself and his decisions a lot more than he normally does. This manifests itself in what he swears to god is a voice in his head. One with a noble accent of some kind, although he can't place it, and doesn't get why his own internal dialogue would have a noble accent come to think of it... He knows it’s not real, but it really does sound that way sometimes to the point he snaps at it out loud. Yet another thing that tends to get him into trouble or at the very least create awkward moments. He looks over at the Lute, which he can swear just moved of its own accord away from him, and hastily gathers up what’s left of it and stuffs it haphazardly into his bag.
Getting up, he looks back at the saloon-style batwing doors of the tavern, expecting to see the half-orc(has to be a full orc) sauntering out to end the life of Gruv with as much pain as possible. Nobody comes out. Huh? Not sure what the hold up is there, but he’s not waiting around to find out. The dizziness from the tavern floor has passed, and it was momentarily replaced by the dizziness of being tossed back out the window, but now his head is clear enough to get up and actually make a run for it. He does just that and manages to get around a corner before the half-orc comes out and sees him. At least, he hopes he didn’t see him. Calling what he just did a mad dash would be being far too generous regarding the coherency with which he did it, so he’s just pretty sure the half-orc didn’t see him, but not totally sure. He quickly rounds several other corners and then comes to rest against the wall of an alley, once he’s sure that he’s not being followed by the brute. Now he’s really jonesing, and when that happens Jones starts to get really annoying.
“That went well I think?”, Jones says into his head in an obviously sarcastic tone.
“I told you to shut up!”, he manages to keep this dialogue internal this time.
“Why bother shutting up. You're just going to drown me out with the inevitable inebriation that you constantly seek as soon as possible. May as well get in my digs while I can you know.”, he says jovially.
“Fair enough, but could you give me a minute here to collect myself?”, he pleads to Jones.
“Uhmm. No. I will not do that. I’m quite annoyed with you actually. Do you know what it feels like to have part of oneself digested while the rest of you is still conscious and aware of the parts being digested?”, he inquires in what seems like a not sarcastic tone at all.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about or care. Please shut up Jones?”, he pleads again with a sigh.
Jones tends to do this as he sobers up more. He starts going on and on about things that just don’t make any sense to Gruv, and honestly, he just doesn’t care about. This is just a manifestation of his addictions that could be the indication of a potentially serious mental problem after all, so giving it too much thought is probably not too healthy in his opinion. Gruv get’s up, brushes himself off, takes a little time to re-arrange his bag, and takes a little more care in arranging the tangled mess of the lute into something that he can at least carry without damaging further.
“Thank you.”, Jones says into his head.
“Shut up Jones!” he yells out loud again.(Gods Damnit)
Thankfully, Jones does shut up at this point, so Gruv gets himself together the rest of the way and gets ready to head back out into the traffic of the day. He really needs a drink at this point, having spilled the one back at the bar in the clumsy retrieval of his bag. Oh crap! This is when he remembers the crunch on the floor. If he broke his flute he was so screwed, because that was his last functional instrument. It normally survived his various misadventures because it was actually made of metal. A pretty strong metal actually as it had withstood some things he honestly thinks it shouldn’t have. Knowing his luck though, this might finally have been the end of it. He quickly rifles through his bag and breathes a sigh of relief when he sees the Flute still intact. One of these days he should get it looked at by someone who knows metal and can tell him what it’s made of. He’s avoided doing this though, because he’s afraid it’s actually something quite valuable, and if he is aware of that he will likely pawn it off the first chance he gets to buy something to get him drunk, high, or into the bed of a wench. He’s smart enough to realize this and so has decided to set himself up for success in this regard by keeping himself naive as to the material content of the instrument.
Satisfied that the crunch he heard most likely came from inside him(he'll heal...probably), he closes the bag back up and starts looking for another tavern(or anywhere serving drink really). This was going to prove somewhat difficult because finding one that he had not already been kicked out of or owed a tab that he was not ready to pay was getting to be harder and harder in this New Devas. It may be time to move on, but that generally required more gold than Gruv had, so he was somewhat stuck it would seem. He still had the flute(thank the gods), and he could play it well enough to generally earn himself enough coin to get by. Worst case scenario, he could fight. If you could fight, there was generally always some work for you. The thing is that Gruv didn’t like to fight. Well, he did like to fight, but just not the serious kind of fighting. Bar brawls were fun. Generally, nobody lost a limb in a bar brawl, although there was that eye under the table and the memory of that does give him pause....
Yes, it could happen, but it was much less likely to happen than in an actual fight on a battleground with swords and axes and such. Gruv didn’t like that kind of fighting at all. He was very fond of his limbs. One in particular actually, and that one seemed to get targeted a lot on battlefields. At least he seemed to notice a lot of warriors on the ground with arrows sticking out from between their legs, an ax embedded in what was probably not an inner thigh, or just missing their bottom half entirely. The point was that people tended to aim for the nether regions a lot in combat and that Gruv was just not ok with. I mean seriously, what is wrong with people? There was this Rogue that he knew named Shivs that was always stabbing people in the balls or their nether region equivalent. The guy would have the perfect chance to stab them in the back and be done with it, but would wait for them to turn around so he could look them in the eye and stab them right in their family jewels! Who does that?!
He put those thoughts aside as he continued his main quest. Finding a drink. He didn’t have much coin left and this was usually the most affordable form of intoxication available in any given town. What he was willing to drink to get knackered usually didn’t much matter to him, and had ingested some pretty foul things in order to achieve his desired state of mind at times. He would never drink Orc piss again though. Allowing himself to be convinced that the piss of a full-blooded orc, allowed to age through the full moon while sealed in a clay pot with gnomish brewing enchantments, would get him drunk was a real low point. Not just in the self-respect department, but in the pocketbook. That “enchanted” gnomish brewing pot had set him back 20 GP. He was gonna have words with that little bastard if he ever found him again. I mean, it most definitely did not work. He tried it… Twice just to be sure. It definitely doesn’t work. Although it didn’t taste as bad as he had expected and he was able to hold it down. That is why he was sure it didn't work. What was that little bastard's name again... Namfoodle or Gimble or something. Gnomes always had the silliest names, and their constant cheerfulness really got on his nerves. After being ripped off and tricked into drinking Orc piss by one, he had actually started to develop an actual geniune dislike of them. Yeah, he wasn’t falling for that again. Fool me once shame on me. Fool me twice… wait was trying it a second time to be sure being fooled twice?
“Yes.”, Jones said blandly.
“Shut up Jones!”, he managed to say internally this time. (Thank the gods)
End of The Sundering of Jones
Prologue:
Gruv did find a bar he could go into without being immediately beaten, stabbed, or shaken upside down to dislodge any hidden Gold he may be carrying. Shortly after the events of that day though, Thelonious found himself in a similar situation, but this time there were no bars left in town, and he did in fact lose the flute. He took this as a sign to move on, so he made his way down to the docks to see if he could bargain his way onto a ship. Ships had booze on them, right? He was a bard after all and long voyages needed entertainment right? Nevermind the fact that he didn't have a functional instrument. That was a detail that could be sorted out later. Hopefully, it didn't get him tossed overboard. Approaching the docks, a familiar word started standing out from the general din of noise in this area of town. He couldn't make it out at first, but it triggered memories... Memories of... Orc piss! He then realized that what was being yelled by a grizzled looking little gnome(damn he hated those bastards) was, "Ship going to Deimos! Needs hands! Ship to Deimos! 3 squares and a cot for hands!" By the grace of the gods! He realized why that sounded familiar. That was the island the little twerp that sold him that bunk gnomish brewing pot had said he was going to. That's why he needed the 20 GP from Gruv. He was buying a ticket to that island for... Well, Gruv had mostly stopped listening and tuned out at that point, but he thought he had heard something about a Gnome town, Gnomish magic or something like that. Whatever. If Namfiddler or Giblets or whatever his name was had gone there, he was gonna find that spastic little rambler, beat his ass right good, get his 20 GP back, and maybe even make him drink some Orc piss.
The Lute “Jones”
Jones in the story is actually the Lute talking to him. It is a conscious NPC that speaks into the mind of its owner. Gruv doesn’t hear it most of the time because he’s usually intoxicated, and this prevents the Lute from being heard. When he starts to Sober up, he is able to hear it, but he attributes it to his need for one of his various vices, so he is not aware that the Lute is in fact conscious. This changes though when Gruv gets on the ship. Forced to sober up because he didn't realize the ship was run by a bunch of Gnomish Clerics that didn't drink(now he really hates gnomes), he began to hear Jones more clearly and started actually listening. It then becomes clear that he is not crazy, and was not suffering from addiction based hallucinations. Jones is in fact real. Huh. He didn't see that coming. Given this new understanding of the nature of Jones's being an actual conscience entity, made Gruv feel pretty bad about smashing it to bits on the Orcs face. It made him feel especially bad about the bits that had been swallowed by that Orc. He has made Jones a promise that he will be sure to get him fixed as soon as he can afford it... and of course, comes across someone that can repair an enchanted Lute with a consciousness inside. That probably isn't something you get done at the average corner shop. Jones doesn’t really like Gruv, but has grown fond of him over time. It was not in fact handed down through the generations of Gruv’s family and was stolen by his grandfather(a Rogue/Bard) at some point. It is a quite valuable enchanted Lute that was created by the College of Creation. It was actually probably a good thing he got kicked out before anyone noticed it. It was meant for greatness and is now reduced to being played in seedy(and smelly) establishments for the entertainment of brutes, miscreants, and other individuals below the noble status it was meant to entertain. Repairing Jones - Jones can potentially be repaired, but if this happens s and how is up to the GM. The outline of the idea for how this could take place is as follows: Repairing jones would require the assistance of the original maker(determined by GM), if Gruv is able to find this individual, then he will find out that they are not so happy with his grandfather, and by proxy not so happy with him. The Lute was created for use by a great bard studying the College of Spirits, and the fact that it has fallen into the hands of Gruv is insulting to them. The thing is that the use of the Lute requires that it has a connection with the musician, and at this point that is Gruv. The maker considers the Lute a friend(because it is conscious), so is willing to help repair it. For a price. Stats of Jones - First of all, Jones is not its real name. The name up to Gm, but it's likely something unpronounceable in common tongues. Stats and effects of a repaired “Jones” are up to the GM. One idea is to give Jones a limited set of actions he can take on his own in combat or out of it that are controlled by the GM, but again totally up to GM on what the repaired Jones actually does. That's just an idea. For now, Gruv did manage to win a new Lute; albeit a pretty shoddy one, in a dice game aboard the ship to Deimos. Jones is jealous of the new Lute and constantly insults it as a hack that couldn't generate a proper tone if you strung with the hair of an Angel and oiled those strings with milk from the nipples of Serpsis herself.
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This one I think presents best with some of the back story as intro, then the short story, and then some follow up backstory.
Thelonious is an addict. (He prefers the name Gruv by the way, but nobody ever calls him that, but he thinks of himself in that name.) He could be a great musician. It’s in his blood, or so he’s been told by his grandad that left him his enchanted Lute(probably stolen). The problem is that Thelonious is a hardcore addict to not just one but many vices. Booze, smoke, things you eat that do things to you besides nourishing you, and of course women. These vices tend to get in his way a lot when it comes to getting ahead in life. Once a promising student(for like a week) of the College of Lore, and determined to become "World Famous Bard", those endeavors were short-lived. He was admitted not due to being a great musician, although he did have talent, but because he showed some innate magical ability. That being so rare in Asterion, it got your foot in the door almost anywhere. That's basically as far as it got him before he promptly got the boot though. The instructors tend not to look too kindly on you showing up to class with a wench from the local brothel on one arm, and a mostly drank jug of mead being waved around belligerently by the other. They look even less kindly on it when you throw up all over the priceless enchanted Viol they had brought to class to demonstrate the proper way to play The Sonet of Eponine.... Twice. His argument that it couldn't be that enchanted if a little regurgitated mead did that much damage to it did not go over well, and so he became drop out(kicked out actually).
These kinds of shenanigans tend to hold Gruv back a lot. Especially when it comes to that whole “become a world-famous bard” endeavor he’s always prattling on about when he gets on one... or two…. Ok let’s be honest it’s normally at least 3 or 4. The hold up there is Thelonious… sorry Gruv has a temper.
The Sundering of Jones: