Chapter 100: Backstage

The entire crowd stood up and applauded the performance with thunderous cheer. Stryg was the only one who sat in his chair quietly. He grimaced at the clamoring noise assaulting his sensitive ears. Had he known this was going to happen at the end he would have left early.

The actors came out from backstage and formed a line. They held hands and bowed several times to the crowd. Stryg clambered up on Rhian to get a good look at them. Several had not appeared during the play, Stryg wondered if some were the purple magi who had cast the illusion spells.

After what seemed an eternity the curtains closed and the actors disappeared backstage. The incessant clapping finally stopped and the crowd began to dissipate.

“That was incredible! I never knew a play was so flashy. We showhorses definitely have to take a page out of their book for our own performances,” Rhian sighed in admiration.

“It was… enlightening, to say the least,” Stryg eyed the stage curtains.

“Masteeeer, you have that weird look in your eyes. I mean, your eyes always look weird, what with the purple eyes and shifting pupil stuff going on. Though, right now you have that look that says, ‘I’m going to do something that everyone clearly doesn’t like, but I don’t care.’”

“Are you finished?” Stryg raised an eyebrow.

Rhian laughed, “Are you serious? Do you know how many looks you’ve got? I’ve been counting. I even got names for them. There’s the ‘I don’t understand what you’re saying’ look, the ‘I don’t care to understand’ side glance, the ‘I’m going to kill that person’ glare, or my fav-”

Stryg hopped off Rhian and made his way to the front of the stage. People that were taller than him tried getting past him, eager to get to the exit. Unfortunately, everyone was taller than him. Unfortunately for them, at least. Stryg pushed them away with what he considered a light tap, but he ended up unwittingly shoving them into several bystanders behind.

A dwarf noticed what was happening and stepped aside for Stryg as he walked by. Stryg reached the front and vaulted over the 6 ft stage with ease. He ignored the shouts from the crowd behind. He pushed the curtain aside and slipped backstage.

Most of the actors had already left, but several stage workers were still moving about equipment and props. A few of the musicians were packing their instruments. They all froze as they stared at the sudden intruder.

“Hey, you can’t be back here,” a brawny stagehand called out.

The orc placed down the equipment he was carrying and walked over to the goblin, “I said you can’t be back here, kid.”

“I wanted to ask about the magical display during the performance,” Stryg didn’t bother to look at the orc. He glanced around, looking for any who might seem to be a mage.

“Sorry, kid. Every fan wants to go backstage, doesn’t mean you can,” the orc stepped in and blocked his view.

“Backstage? Is that what this is called? I guess it makes sense,” Stryg nodded to himself.

“Okay, time to scram. We don’t have time for this,” he grabbed the goblin’s shoulder.

Stryg’s hand shot out reflexively, grabbed the offending wrist and squeezed. The orc screamed in pain as he fell to his knees. The other workers backed away in fear.

“Excuse me, would you release my stagehand, please?”

Stryg turned to the familiar voice. A masked woman wearing a tight grey costume stood in front of him, smiling.

“You’re the narrator,” he said in recognition.

She removed her mask. A bundle of black curls fell down framing her oval face. Her face was unblemished, save for the wrinkles at the edge of her eyes. “I do have a name, but everyone back here just calls me captain,” she winked.

“I have some questions,” Stryg said.

“I’d love to help answer them, but I’m a bit preoccupied with the whimpering of my stagehand,” she stared pointedly at the orc.

“Oh, right,” Stryg released the man’s wrist.

The orc scurried away.

“Thank you,” the captain nodded to Stryg. She waved another worker over, “Take him to the doctor to get his hand checked.”

“Right away,” the worker nodded. He helped the stagehand up and took him through a door at the left side of the backstage.

“Carry on, everyone,” the captain clapped.

The other crew members mumbled under their breaths, but went on with their duties.

“So, Mister Fan, how can the Singing Willow troupe help you on this fine evening?” The captain asked.

“I have questions regarding the play.”

“Interested in our performance, ey?”

“Yes, I am,” he nodded.

“Then we have a common goal,” she placed her hand on her chin. “You see, I’m always on the lookout for interesting stories and you practically scream ‘interesting.”

“I’m interesting?” Stryg tilted his head.

“Darling, please. You are the most interesting thing I’ve seen ever since we arrived in this city.”

“How so?” He narrowed his eyes.

“Oh, there’s plenty. Your unique appearance for one. Or what about how a 4 foot youth broke my stagehand’s wrist with such ease. I could go on, however I think you could enlighten me with even more fascinating answers. So, how about it, I answer your questions and you answer mine?”

“...Okay.”

“Perfect, let’s shake on it,” she stuck out her gloved hand.

Stryg stared at the hand with a questioning look.

“I won’t bite. This is how everyone conducts transactions in our line of business. Our word is everything,” she said.

Stryg grabbed her hand, his small fingers barely wrapped around her palms. They shook three times.

“Ooo, sharp claws you got there,” she chuckled.

“All goblins do. I just don’t shave mine down,” Stryg released her hand. He curled his fingers inwards and admired his grey claws.

“So I’ve heard. Goblins don’t like appearing barbaric to the other species, or something like that, yes?”

“I don’t know. But, if that’s the reason then they are idiots.”

“Oh, why is that?”

“I’ve come to learn that people in cities don’t like barbarians. Which means goblins shave their claws in the hopes of not being disliked.”

“That makes sense.”

“If that’s the case, then goblins are failing.”

“Why?”

“Because most people hate us anyway. You can see it in the way they look at us. They judge us before we even speak a single word.”

“Yes, I do see how that could pose a problem,” she tapped her lips.

“Not much of a problem. Most people don’t like me even after speaking with me,” he shrugged.

“Then I am happy to say I am in the minority.”

“Is that so?” Stryg studied her face.

“Indeed. Now, about your questions?”

“The magic during the play, I wanted to know more.”

“Impressed, huh? Our troupe boasts one of the best magical displays in the entire Realm. Don’t you worry, I know all the answers. Fans always want to know about our magic. The rich ones always pay extra to meet the actors. You could say we’ve gotten used to it. So, what would you like to know? The strength behind Gale’s earth blast when she fights the drow? Or maybe the yellow bolts she fires at her last stand.”

“I want to know how many purple magi were required to constantly cast illusion spells throughout an hour long performance.”

“Now I’m even more interested,” she smiled. “...We employ a dozen purple magi to cast throughout the show.”

“That’s a lot. They must only be adepts if you have to employ that many. How did you get so many magi to work for you?”

“To explain that I’d first have to correct you on one point. My magi aren’t technically adepts. None of them have been formally trained by a magic academy. You see, their talent was deemed too little to be accepted into such prestigious schools.”

“What are you saying exactly?” Stryg furrowed his brow.

“There are more mageborn than most people think, still relatively small compared to the entire population, but enough that many fall through the cracks. When some mageborn are tested by chrome-probes their talent is shown to be lacking. The magic academies reject them, but people like me are more than happy to take them in.”

She went on, “I see the talent that the great cities refuse to. I help train the discarded mageborn and help them reach their full potential. The academies said they could never accomplish anything, even a simple spell, and yet through years of hard work and effort someone like you can confuse their spells for those of an adept’s.”

“I didn’t know there were mageborn that were rejected,” Stryg muttered.

He assumed that Hollow Shade wanted all the magi they could get their hands on, why else would they be willing to pay for the schooling of so many mageborn, himself included.

The Captain shook her head, “Why do you think you haven’t heard of any goblin magi? Do you really think there aren’t any goblin mageborn out there? Or that none of them are talented enough to be accepted by a mage academy?”

“I… I never thought…” Stryg mumbled.

“Most people don’t think about what's possible. Not even magi themselves. Most believe that once they graduate from their fancy academies that they will serve a city, or powerful Houses and Lords and Ladies.”

She gestured to the stage around her, “When in fact they can have different lives, free from all the politics and dangers that come with the role of being a city mage. They can choose to be happy and pursue a different lifestyle. Such as bringing wonder to the eyes of others.”

“By performing a play?”

“Well, not just any play,” she twirled about and ended with a striking pose. “The best plays in all the Realm.”

Stryg found himself grinning, “Was it all true? The Unfaltering Shield.”

“We may have dramatized a few scenes,” she tapped the tip of her nose. “But the story for the most part is true, especially the end. Countless soldiers witnessed Lady Gale’s last stand and her final words.”

“So, Gale holding off an entire army by herself, Veres being undefeated, the Ebon Lord making that magic sword, that was all real then?”

“From what we’ve learned from the history books and passed on oral accounts, yes, it was. The only part that would normally be difficult to ascertain would be anything regarding the Ebon Lords. The ancient rulers of our Realm have always been shrouded in mystery.”

“You don’t know if the Ebon Lord’s part of the story was real?”

“Most folk barely know anything about the Ebon Lords. The only people who might know more are the ancient and powerful Houses of the Realm. Fortunately, Ebon Lord Koval was very famous, and we know about him a bit more than the others.”

“So, that part was true, then?”

She nodded, “Indeed. Lord Koval was most famous for two things, being an unparalleled mage smith and unifying the Ebon Realm. Though, the Realm fell back into war after his death.”

“Why am I not surprised,” Stryg sighed. Tribes always suffered when they lost powerful leaders.

“His unification may be gone, but his enchanted works still exist. You wouldn’t believe how many Houses go about flaunting how they obtained a bonafide work of Lord Koval. Even though most are just simple objects like a hairbrush, ugh,” she rolled her eyes.

Stryg pictured a wealthy woman parading about the streets holding up a golden hair brush. It did seem a tad odd.

“So, Koval’s magical smithing skills really weren’t that great,” Stryg frowned.

“No, they were. That hairbrush I told you about has to be hundreds of years old yet it’s still in perfect condition. The woman who owns it is said to have beautiful black curly hair thanks to it,” The narrator played with her own hair.

Stryg narrowed his eyes in suspicion.

She laughed, “Of course, the best examples of Lord Koval’s skills are Krikolm and Oginum.”

“I just actually heard about those. Are those two weapons really that amazing?” Stryg’s eyes were alight, his pupils wide with interest.

She scratched her cheek, “Well, I haven’t personally seen Oginum in action. Yet, whenever the leaders of House Goldelm wielded Oginum into battle they smashed apart their opponents with ease, but that might just be over-exaggeration on their part.”

“Hm. What about Krikolm? Was it like the play?”

“Well, that’s what they say. Then again, House Veres lost the sword almost three hundred some odd years ago, so who knows.” She leaned closer, “Rumor has it Krikolm was never lost, but actually destroyed. House Veres is just too embarrassed to say it. Or maybe they are just too scared to say who destroyed it.”

“So, the weapons really weren’t that great,” he sighed. That was one of his favorite parts of the play.

“Meh, who knows. It’s just a rumor anyway,” she stepped back.

Luckily, Stryg was a friend with a Veres. He would have to make sure to ask Callum about the rumors later.

“Wanna hear something even more interesting?” She smiled.

“I’m listening,” he perked up.

“Before Lady Gale’s untimely demise she had a son with an unknown father. After she died, Lord Veres took the child in. Veres trained and raised him to be the proper leader of House Gale. The Gales have been loyal to House Veres ever since. But, there are a few who believe that Veres was in fact the unknown father.”

“That doesn’t make sense. Why would Veres be the unknown father? If Veres was sleeping with Gale then why didn’t he just say so?” Stryg said.

“Koval was an Ebon Lord. His pride would never have allowed Veres to have another lover besides his own daughter.”

“Which makes the whole story even less likely. Why would Veres risk sleeping with Gale if Koval would kill him if they were ever found out?”

“Isn’t it obvious? Love,” she winked.

Stryg frowned in confusion.

“Well, I’ve answered your questions, now it’s my turn,” she clapped.

“Cap’n, the next show starts in 5 minutes!” One of the stagehands called out.

“Dammit, I forgot we had an extra showing tonight,” she groaned. She placed her mask back on, “Before I go, let me ask you this. Did you enjoy the show?”

“I did. I enjoyed seeing Veres and Gale strike down their enemies… and also the bond they shared,” Stryg admitted.

“I’m very glad to hear it,” she bowed eloquently. “If you want, you can watch the show again from backstage or from the front, your pick. We can talk afterwards, too. You can even meet the rest of the cast.”

“I’d like to, but I have to meet up with someone. But, I’ll definitely come back some other time to answer your questions, I swear it,” Stryg pounded his fist over his chest.

“That sounds great. We’ll be performing throughout the week in Mellow Bloom. Drop by whenever.”

“I’ll come tomorrow then.”

“Ah, except tomorrow,” she winced. “We aren’t performing tomorrow on account of the Seregulus Hunt.”

“I heard that hunt mentioned when I first arrived. What’s it about exactly?” Stryg asked.

“From what I’ve heard it’s some sort of yearly event where people gather from around the city to prove who is the best hunter.”

“Best hunter?”