[Flashback] The Bell

[Guido Faragas]

Timestamp: [Flashback] 70th Day of Summer 509AV

“When was it I first heard the sound of the bell? Was it simply a part of a deep dream? Or, did it toll in the real world, at a time and place I have forgotten? Truly, I do not recall. Perhaps, it is merely the memory of a previous life. But I do know, when the bell tolls, a death surely follows.”

“Will you dare to hear the story of the bell?”

He was sitting a table, in the corner of the tavern. Midnight approaching. Three companions, each with a half-empty drink placed on the table. The fire blazed dimly, scarcely reaching into this secluded corner of the tavern.

“Tell, your tale, Guido. Tell the tale of the bell.” A rough-looking fellow spoke quietly, hurriedly downing a gulp of his ale.

“Very well, if you insist.” Guido Faragas smiled broadly, pushing his empty mug in the direction of the rough-looking man.

[Guido Faragas]

The Beginning I was five summers old, helping my mother in the fields. She worked during the harvests to gain a few coins, for my father’s income was very intermittent. It was backbreaking work, picking the fruit but she never complained. I was as much a hindrance as a help: still, she would not leave me on my own. An annoying child she called me: too inquisitive for my own good. Getting my fingers trapped, my toe stubbed – scrapes and scratches, cuts and bruises on all my limbs. She never lost her patience with me, apart from this day. I think she was tired and I was particularly irritating. “Go and play with Miriam,” she snapped. One of the other women had brought her daughter – she was about my age and was sitting quietly by a small stream that ran along the bottom edge of the field. She was a timid girl who would never stray; I found her boring. My mother’s voice brooked no argument, however, and so I skipped down to sit beside Miriam. She was playing with a straw doll using scraps of material as clothes. “Stupid thing,” I said as I sat down. “What do you want to play with that for?” “Don’t be nasty, Guido.” I shrugged, bored already. I picked up a pebble and threw it in the slow-running stream. As it hit the water, a bell sounded. I frowned. I was sure I had heard it before, yet I could not quite recall where or when. It was familiar yet puzzling. It sounded again – it had a deep bass tone, ringing clear as if it were ringing close by. But there was no building close, save the barn, and it had no bell. Clang. Clang. It sounded twice. “Is there something wrong Guido?” Miriam was looking at me with a concerned expression on her face. Clang. Clang. Clang. Much louder. I put my hands over my ears but it made no difference to the tone or loudness of the sound. “The bell...” I began. “What bell? There is no bell you idiot.” Miriam looked bemused “Don’t be so stupid!” I cried out: the sound was getting louder and louder befuddling my senses. “You must hear it!” “Well I don’t!” “Stupid baby,” I screamed. I grabbed the doll and threw it into the river.

[Guido Faragas]

The Doll

Pausing for dramatic effect, Guido took a small sip of his brimming pint of ale. He smacked his lips and wiped away the foam from his mouth before leaning forwards and speaking quietly, inviting his companions to lean forwards to hear his words.

The doll arced through the air so slowly. I can still recall it moving towards the river. It hit with a SPLASH.

As he uttered the word splash, the storyteller raised his voice and stamped his feet on the tavern floor. The combined effect, as intended, made his companions jump a little; the rough-looking fellow jerked so hard that he knocked his mug of ale, depositing a small pool of the liquid on the top of table. With a grimace, he wiped down the table with one corner of his rough jacket.

Leaning back in his seat, Guido continued the tale.

“Guido, you are horrible,” Miriam screamed, a distraught look on her face. She moved to the edge of the stream. The doll floated a little down the river before being caught in some reeds. The girl began crying. “Get it for me Guido!” She gave me a plaintive look but the bells were louder in my head. I scarcely heard her words. “I’m not getting wet,” I cried. “It’s only a stupid doll.” Miriam wiped her eyes, her face now set in determination. Without a word she hitched up her skirt and waded into the river. My eyes were misting over, the sound appeared to be affecting all my senses. I let out a strangled cry as the intensity of the bells increased. “No, don’t...” She took no notice and went deeper into the river, where the current ran faster. I dimly saw her struggle towards the doll. The bells tolled their ominous sound...clang, clang

[Guido Faragas]

Death by a Stream Louder and louder the bell sounded – I’m sure I must have been screeching like a howling beast. Yet, I could not hear my own voice over the sound of the bell. Through the fog that lay across my vision, I could see Miriam reaching for the doll and then slipping. She fell forwards, her head hitting a nearby rock, drops of blood flowing into the water, reaching the sodden straw doll. The bell rang one last time – a mighty sound that finally overcame my senses and I fell to the ground.

“So the bell heralded the death of the young girl! “ The rough fellow interrupted the tale. Guido was silent for the moment as his audience exchanged glances. It works every time. Misdirection. Lead them down the path and they meekly follow.

The storyteller leant forward, once again shaking his head. “So sad, so sad,” he murmured in a forlorn voice, summoning the trace of a tear to the corner of one green eye. Even the rough-looking fellow shook his head in agreement. “Did they blame you when you awoke?”

“Blame me?” The youth raised a querulous eyebrow. “Why should they blame me?”

“For the young girl...” The ruffian looked puzzled.

“Let me end the story,” smiled the storyteller.

Water splashed across my face and I was dimly aware of a figure shaking me. The voice of my mother was sweet to my ears – the bell had gone. I opened my eyes. “Miriam,” I murmured. My mother’s face was ashen. A small hand stroked my cheek. It was Miriam! She had a graze on her head and was clutching her doll, her eyes full of tears. “Mamma,” she whispered. I scrambled to my feet. A few paces away, Miriam’s mother lay on the ground, her face pallid and grey. She was dead.

“But how?”

“Apparently she had a poor heart and it gave way when she rushed to her daughter’s side. She did not realise that Miriam was only lightly hurt.” Guido sighed deeply.

“So the bell..”

“It tolled for the mother not the girl,” said Guido with a wicked grin. Then he tilted his head. “Do you hear something?” He paused for a moment, furrowing his brow as if listening to some far off sound. He shrugged. "Probably nothing."

The light in the fire flickered, deepening the gloom in the tavern. Nervous glances passed between the men at the table as they placed a few coins before the storyteller.

[Guido Faragas]

It was a short time later. The fire had burnt a little lower and the corners of the tavern were gloomy and uninviting. At their secluded table, Guido and his audience had their drinks replenished and the storyteller’s purse was a little heavier. A few more coins earned for a tall tale. Still, it kept the young reimancer in ale and topped up the small living he made from assisting his father. The extra coins made life bearable – and, he enjoyed telling his tales. Seeing how far he could push the credulity of the tavern-goers.

He rarely knew how his tales would end. He began with some rough plot in mind but spontaneity was the key. It kept the tales fresh and vivid. Too much planning usually resulted in tales that were stilted, predictable and uninteresting. And, the challenge of finding a new angle on an old story appealed to the youth. Inevitably, he occasionally fell flat on his face, his story meandering in search of the next scene. Still, it was all a learning experience and he rarely encountered serious hostility. If they didn’t like the story, they kept their coins in their pocket and grumbled a little – usually returning the next time he was in the mood for a story.

“It was several years before I heard the bells again,” he began in a sombre tone. “I prayed for some time that I never would and after so many years I had almost forgotten what had happened. I thought it might have only been a dream; or some temporary insanity brought on by an illness – perhaps some disease of the ear. The events of that day had all become lost in the passage of time. I was no longer a child – not yet a full grown man either. Old enough to help my father but not old enough to be told the details of his business. It happened on a cold winter’s day, when the ground was frozen hard and patches of ice laid traps for the unwary.”

“This is the tale of a thief and the second sounding of the bell.”

[Guido Faragas]

The Vain Thief Arin Levath was a small time thief. He was a decent pickpocket but knew his limitations and so rarely ventured beyond petty crime. He usually preyed on newcomers to the city rather than local citizens; so his activities were tolerated by those who knew of his occupation and he didn’t attract the attention of the knights. Moreover, he was a charming and handsome man, having an eye for the ladies. His one vice was vanity: in particular his beloved moustache. And this was to be his downfall. Pickings had been sparse for Arin one winter and he had taken to the occasional theft from local merchants. He was wooing a pretty young girl and needed some funds to pursue her. However, one of his targets – a local merchant, that I worked for at times for a few coins – discovered that the thief had helped himself to a few goods. Rather than report the theft, the merchant decided to teach the thief a lesson. He hired some local boys to ambush Arin and cut off his beloved moustache which he had cultivated for many years. He became the subject of ridicule amongst the locals and the woman he was wooing laughed loudly at his new appearance. Arin was incensed for the merchant had struck at both his vanity and virility. He vowed to pay the merchant back for the slight. A few days later, the merchant was leaving for a trade trip. He asked me to tidy his stockrooms whilst he was away as he was a rather disorganised fellow. The stockrooms were a couple of interconnected rooms in a secluded area of the city. Most of the stuff he kept there was of little value but he did keep a few items of value in a secret hidey-hole under the floor. A mat was supposedly left on top of the hole to guard it but he usually forgot to replace it and whenever I helped out I had to drag the mat back. I arrived late one night to tidy the rooms, for my father had kept me busy during the day. As I reached the outer door, I thought I heard a scuffling inside. The door wasn’t locked, which wasn’t a surprise, as the merchant was forgetful as well as untidy. When I opened the door, I saw a mouse scurrying into a corner and I put the noise down to the beast. I tidied the outer room and when i reached the inner room, I saw the mat wasn’t over the trapdoor, so I dragged it there. For good measure, I pushed a heavy chest on top of the mat for I knew the merchant would be gone for a few days. I finished in the early hours, tired and with a headache. As I left I heard the sound again and thought the mouse must be about once more. After a few steps, I heard the far off sound of a bell but I shrugged and thought of it no more. The next day I was helping my father deliver some goods to the same area of the city as the stockroom. Once again, I heard the bell and I knew now that it was the bell that had heralded the death of Miriam’s mother. Over the next few days, the bell sounded loudly every time I entered that area of the city. Then, as I was delivering a few timber supplies to a merchant, the bell reached a crescendo, forcing me on my knees. With a final loud toll, the sound vanished. I was shaken but the experience had not been as bad for my senses as the earlier incident. A few days later, the merchant returned and he sent a messenger for me to go to his storeroom. When I arrived he was standing next to the trapdoor. Curled up inside the hole was a deathly pale Arin. The thief was dead. He had clearly entered the room seeking revenge on the merchant and hidden in the hole when he heard me arrive. I had trapped him in the hole and he had died of lack of water and sustenance. A horrible way to die. I felt responsible, yet I knew it was the thief’s vanity that had been his downfall. A moral for us all, I think. We disposed of the body quietly. No-one missed him. His name vanished from the streets. The girl he had pursued found a richer suitor. The merchant became richer. It is only Guido who remembers him now, for I know that the bell foretold his death.

A few more coins were placed on the table. The storyteller sighed. “It is late. No more tales tonight.” He collected the coins and bid his companions farewell. As he reached the door, he staggered slightly, feeling a dull ache in his head...

[Leviathan]

Thread Award! Guido Exp +4 Storytelling, +1 Rhetoric, +1 Persuasion Lore Storytelling Tactics: Spontaneity, The Haunting Bell +25 Silver Miza Additional Comments I especially love your Storytelling tales, whether they are original or not. As always you can PM me with any questions, comments, or concerns. Thank you for your patience and keep up the good work.