Conversation: q_bard_conv
Triggered by
- creature NPC Lindir of the Hall of Fire
q_bard_mstr
Scripts referenced
| Script | Slot | In module | Notes |
|---|---|---|---|
q_bard_lrn | action | ✓ | |
q_bard_stn | action | ✓ | |
q_bard_rtn | action | ✓ | |
q_bard_c_dn | active | ✓ | |
q_bard_c_s2r | active | ✓ | |
q_bard_c_s2w | active | ✓ | |
q_bard_c_s1r | active | ✓ | |
q_bard_c_s1w | active | ✓ | |
q_bard_c_off | active | ✓ |
Quest entries granted
| Quest | Tag | Step(s) |
|---|---|---|
| Tales That Live Forever | bard_lay | 1, 2, 3 |
Starting entries
- entry #5 (if
q_bard_c_dn) — *He tips the harp toward you in something that is not quite a bow.* The Lay is o… - entry #4 (if
q_bard_c_s2r) — *Lindir stops playing halfway through a phrase, which he never does, and holds o… - entry #3 (if
q_bard_c_s2w) — *He glances at where you are carrying the vellum and goes back to tuning.* Still… - entry #2 (if
q_bard_c_s1r) — *He takes a folded leaf of vellum out of the harp case and holds it flat on his … - entry #1 (if
q_bard_c_s1w) — *Lindir sets his hand flat on the strings to stop them.* You have the torc on. G… - entry #0 (if
q_bard_c_off) — *The elf on the bench turns the harp on its side and looks at you properly.* You… - entry #6 — *The elf on the bench looks up and smiles as though you had been part of the con…
Conversation flow
Each starting entry is expanded recursively. Repeated nodes (cycles, shared continuations) appear inline as ↩ link backrefs to the first occurrence.
entry #5 (if q_bard_c_dn) ¶
*He tips the harp toward you in something that is not quite a bow.* The Lay is out of my keeping and going about on a sword-edge, which is a stranger fate than I intended for it and a better one. Sing it badly in bad inns; that is how a thing survives. There are longer roads in this craft — the naming-songs, the lament that stops a fight, the making of a true name that a thing cannot refuse — but those are for a later evening than this one.
reply #6 ¶
Sing well, Lindir.
entry #4 (if q_bard_c_s2r) ¶
*Lindir stops playing halfway through a phrase, which he never does, and holds out his hand palm up without looking at you.* Say it. Not the whole of it. Only the line that goes where the line is missing.
reply #4 → q_bard_rtn ¶
*Say the line.*
entry #9 ¶
*You give him the line. Lindir is quiet for a long moment, and then laughs once, delighted and slightly outraged, the way a man laughs at being beaten at a game he invented. He takes the vellum, the whole Lay, ending and all, down to the smithy of Rivendell, and what comes back up is not a page.* There. It goes about the world on an edge now, and it will not need either of us again.
reply #5 ¶
Not yet. The line has not come to me.
entry #3 (if q_bard_c_s2w) ¶
*He glances at where you are carrying the vellum and goes back to tuning.* Still folded, I see, and still short a line. That is not a failure. An ending you have gone looking for is worth nothing at all — it has to come and find you. Fifteen levels of the craft, and something in you will have happened. Bring it back then.
↩ reply #6 “Sing well, Lindir.”
entry #2 (if q_bard_c_s1r) ¶
*He takes a folded leaf of vellum out of the harp case and holds it flat on his knee.* This is the Lay of the Second Spring. It ends in the middle of a line, and it has ended there for six hundred years, because the elf who was writing it went to the Havens and did not think the ending was his to put on. I have been waiting for somebody it was going to happen to.
reply #2 → q_bard_stn ¶
Give it to me. I will bring you back the line.
entry #8 ¶
*He folds the vellum once more and presses it into your hand, and does not let go of it immediately.* Do not write on it. Do not show it to anybody clever. Carry it, and let it be unfinished at you until you cannot stand it.
reply #3 ¶
Not yet. Keep it by the fire a while longer.
entry #1 (if q_bard_c_s1w) ¶
*Lindir sets his hand flat on the strings to stop them.* You have the torc on. Good. But nothing has happened to you yet that belongs in the Lay — I would hear it in how you say your own name. Go and let the world happen to you a while, and come back to me when you are eight songs deeper into the craft.
↩ reply #6 “Sing well, Lindir.”
entry #0 (if q_bard_c_off) ¶
*The elf on the bench turns the harp on its side and looks at you properly.* You sing. No — don't be modest at me, I have had six hundred years of modest. Then here is the only thing about it worth knowing, and I will give it to you free: a song that is only ever sung by the one who made it dies with them. It is not yours. It was never going to be yours. Your entire job is to hand it on in a state fit to be handed on again.
reply #0 → q_bard_lrn ¶
Then teach me the phrase, and I will hand it on.
entry #7 ¶
*He has you sing the opening phrase back to him eleven times, and stops you each time for a reason he does not explain, and the twelfth time says nothing at all, which turns out to be the lesson. Afterwards he puts a thin silver torc about your neck with the same phrase cut into it.* Now it is in two places. That is one more than it was.
reply #1 ¶
Another evening, master singer. There is a road on me.
entry #6 ¶
*The elf on the bench looks up and smiles as though you had been part of the conversation all along.* You have come in during the third verse, which is the best part and the hardest to explain. Sit if you like. There is water, and there will be more singing.
↩ reply #6 “Sing well, Lindir.”
NPC lines (entries) — flat index
entry #0
*The elf on the bench turns the harp on its side and looks at you properly.* You sing. No — don't be modest at me, I have had six hundred years of modest. Then here is the only thing about it worth knowing, and I will give it to you free: a song that is only ever sung by the one who made it dies with them. It is not yours. It was never going to be yours. Your entire job is to hand it on in a state fit to be handed on again.
- → reply #0 “Then teach me the phrase, and I will hand it on.”
- → reply #1 “Another evening, master singer. There is a road on me.”
entry #1
*Lindir sets his hand flat on the strings to stop them.* You have the torc on. Good. But nothing has happened to you yet that belongs in the Lay — I would hear it in how you say your own name. Go and let the world happen to you a while, and come back to me when you are eight songs deeper into the craft.
- → reply #6 “Sing well, Lindir.”
entry #2
*He takes a folded leaf of vellum out of the harp case and holds it flat on his knee.* This is the Lay of the Second Spring. It ends in the middle of a line, and it has ended there for six hundred years, because the elf who was writing it went to the Havens and did not think the ending was his to put on. I have been waiting for somebody it was going to happen to.
- → reply #2 “Give it to me. I will bring you back the line.”
- → reply #3 “Not yet. Keep it by the fire a while longer.”
entry #3
*He glances at where you are carrying the vellum and goes back to tuning.* Still folded, I see, and still short a line. That is not a failure. An ending you have gone looking for is worth nothing at all — it has to come and find you. Fifteen levels of the craft, and something in you will have happened. Bring it back then.
- → child “Sing well, Lindir.”
entry #4
*Lindir stops playing halfway through a phrase, which he never does, and holds out his hand palm up without looking at you.* Say it. Not the whole of it. Only the line that goes where the line is missing.
- → reply #4 “*Say the line.*”
- → reply #5 “Not yet. The line has not come to me.”
entry #5
*He tips the harp toward you in something that is not quite a bow.* The Lay is out of my keeping and going about on a sword-edge, which is a stranger fate than I intended for it and a better one. Sing it badly in bad inns; that is how a thing survives. There are longer roads in this craft — the naming-songs, the lament that stops a fight, the making of a true name that a thing cannot refuse — but those are for a later evening than this one.
- → child “Sing well, Lindir.”
entry #6
*The elf on the bench looks up and smiles as though you had been part of the conversation all along.* You have come in during the third verse, which is the best part and the hardest to explain. Sit if you like. There is water, and there will be more singing.
- → child “Sing well, Lindir.”
entry #7
*He has you sing the opening phrase back to him eleven times, and stops you each time for a reason he does not explain, and the twelfth time says nothing at all, which turns out to be the lesson. Afterwards he puts a thin silver torc about your neck with the same phrase cut into it.* Now it is in two places. That is one more than it was.
entry #8
*He folds the vellum once more and presses it into your hand, and does not let go of it immediately.* Do not write on it. Do not show it to anybody clever. Carry it, and let it be unfinished at you until you cannot stand it.
entry #9
*You give him the line. Lindir is quiet for a long moment, and then laughs once, delighted and slightly outraged, the way a man laughs at being beaten at a game he invented. He takes the vellum, the whole Lay, ending and all, down to the smithy of Rivendell, and what comes back up is not a page.* There. It goes about the world on an edge now, and it will not need either of us again.
PC replies — flat index
reply #0 →
q_bard_lrnThen teach me the phrase, and I will hand it on.
- → entry #7 “*He has you sing the opening phrase back to him eleven times, and stops you each…”
reply #1
Another evening, master singer. There is a road on me.
reply #2 →
q_bard_stnGive it to me. I will bring you back the line.
- → entry #8 “*He folds the vellum once more and presses it into your hand, and does not let g…”
reply #3
Not yet. Keep it by the fire a while longer.
reply #4 →
q_bard_rtn*Say the line.*
- → entry #9 “*You give him the line. Lindir is quiet for a long moment, and then laughs once,…”
reply #5
Not yet. The line has not come to me.
reply #6
Sing well, Lindir.