Daldorra led them into the basement.

Holsley recognised it as much from his childhood. Carrying barrels up and down the worn steps, doing inventory on the crates, and scaring away the rats. It hadn't changed much. In fact, it hadn't changed at all. It was still dank, cold, and heartless. Stacks of barrels set against the far walls contained the ales the tavern now served, while crates of food sat opposite them.

It must have survived the fire, he realised quickly, ducking his head beneath a low beam as he followed the unencumbered dwarf. He supposed that made some sense, the whole thing had been hewn from the stone.

He blinked. Maybe it had changed a little?

Daldorra had transformed the underneath of the Smiling Bard into her living space. Some of the barrels were now stuffed with her clothing, others had been turned into tables and chairs. He spied a cot in the corner, and other bits of furniture that were blackened with ash. Whatever had survived the fire had ended up down here.

She crossed the room to a small copper pot and quickly set a flame beneath it. She had never lived in the Smiling Bard, Holsley remembered. Daldorra had been living a few streets over in a place of her own. A place she had probably needed to sell. The dwarf had moved in here after she'd rebuilt the Smiling Bard. Why live in the basement, though?

'I like what you've done with the place,' Holsley said, looking around at her collection of nick-nacks. A few porcelain owls stared back at him. 'Uh, very homely.'

Daldorra rested her axe against the back wall and took a place at the pot. Smoke trailed out of the spout, leaving a faint sweetly scent in the air. That smell brought Holsley back. It was rich with honey and caramel, her own herbal concoction and one they had proudly served in the tavern upstairs.

The dwarf poured three cups and handed them out. Holsley took his willingly, taking small scorching sips. Roland looked at his as if it might explode at any moment and resisted drinking it. Daldorra downed it in one before she even took a seat at the table. The pair followed suit.

'Okay.' Roland leaned forward. 'What do you know?'

'Plenty,' she huffed, upending her mug on the table. She eyed Holsley. 'I want you to promise you'll 'and over that lute when I've told you what you came 'ere for.'

The lute was suddenly very heavy. Well, heavier than it had been. Holsley looked over at Roland, who gave him a quick nod. The bard could tell what he was thinking. They could simply hand over the lute now and he could come back later and retrieve it. Unlike Roland, however, Holsley wasn't sure he could do such a thing. He wasn't a thief, at least not directly, and he didn't have the stomach for blatant lies.

'I'll hand it over,' he said honestly, placing the lute besides him so it rested against the barrel she had repurposed into a table. 'I promise.'

A silence permeated the air.

'Well?' Roland raised an eyebrow. 'What's worth knowing?'

She sighed. 'What you've 'eard is true. Dan did escape the 'angman of Tressa. The man spoke of it one night when 'e was drunk.'

'What did he say?' Holsey's turn to lean forward.

'I don't know what Dan did to deserve the noose, that part 'e left out,' replied Daldorra. 'It was about fifteen years ago when it 'appened. Dan escaped the dungeons and tried to flee the city, but the 'angman was waiting.'

'Sounds familiar,' Holsley snorted. She gave him a sharp look. 'Sorry for interrupting, Daldorra.'

'How did he escape?'

'Dan 'ad found some form of protection and evaded the supernatural creature long enough to strike up a deal with the Ravenpeaks.' Daldorra pushed her chair out with a squeak and went back to the pot to refill her cup. The pair watched her closely, enthralled by her words. 'When I asked 'ow 'e 'ad done such a thing, Dan showed me. Do you remember the marks Dan 'ad on 'is upper arm?'

Holsley only had to think for a second. 'I do.'

'Dan said it was this mark that protected 'im from the 'angman.'

It didn't take much for the young bard to imagine it in his mind's eye. Just below the shoulder of the old minstrel's left arm, there had been a series of digits, both letters and numbers.

Holsley had asked about them before, and Dan had playfully told him they were coordinates to his treasure. That the numbers, when used with a map, would lead him to an unforgettable treasure. Of course, after Holsley had left home to go looking for that treasure, Dan had told him it was a lie.

Now, he wondered.

'Fifteen,' Holsley said. 'Dash. B. Dash. One, two, six.'

'Crypt coordinates,' said Roland in an instant. Daldorra and Holsley blinked at the rogue. 'Trust me, as a thief I know. The Whispers hide some of their valuables in the old crypts beneath the city. Fifteen would be the level. B would refer to the block. One hundred and twenty-six would be the specific crypt.'

A moment passed.

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'Dan must have hidden something there,' Holsley offered. 'Maybe a magical item or, like, a magic word. Something that can ward off the Hangman?'

'Maybe some form of blackmail,' Roland continued, tapping his chin. 'It does mean we'll have to go inside the crypts, though.'

Holsley shuddered at the thought.

There was something everyone in Tressa knew and it was this: Never venture inside of the crypts. They weren't just cold, barren, and full of dead bodies. The crypts were the source of almost every good ghost story in Tressa. There were tales of people that had gone inside to pay respect to loved ones and had become lost in the maze of similar-looking tunnels.

'What about the bargain Dan struck up with the Ravenpeaks?' Holsley turned his attention back to Daldorra. 'Did he ever mention what it was?'

'Not once.' Daldorra eyed him. 'I reckon 'e offered them a service of some kind.'

'What kind of service could hold off the Hangman?' Holsley asked.

Roland gave him a look. Holsley knew the one. It told him that he was probably better off not knowing.

This was beginning to get weird. Holsley had known Dan for all of his life, had lived in his pub, had spoken to him each and every day, now he was discovering that maybe he didn't know the old minstrel as well as he thought he did. There was something hidden in the man's past. Something dark. And just like a wool jumper, if Holsley get picked at the ends, he was sure to unravel it.

Roland stood up first. 'Crypts then.'

'Before you go,' Daldorra placed a hand over Holsley's, 'I would like to speak to you. Alone.'

'Are you going to try and kill me again?' Holsley gulped. He wasn't sure how well he'd do in this cramped space, though, if Daldorra wielded the axe again, she'd be put into a similarly limiting situation.

'No,' Daldorra promised.

Roland looked down at Holsley. He only moved when the bard gave him a reassuring nod. Reluctantly, the rogue moved away from the pair and followed the steps back up into the tavern. She watched him go. Once the trapdoor was closed, Daldorra seemed to relax a little.

'Are you going to tell me that he's no good?' Holsley asked. 'A lot of people have been giving me that advice lately. If that's what you're going to say, I don't—'

'Play me somethin', lad,' she said then. 'I want to hear the Sombre Streets of Yondere again. The way Dan used to play it.'

Holsley startled. That was unexpected. He fumbled. 'I don't know if—'

'Please.'

Holsley cautiously brought the lute up onto his lap. He fiddled the strings, trying to remember how the song used to go. It was an old dwarven favourite. Though he'd never seen the place himself, he had been told that dwarves would sing the words throughout the halls of the High Mountain of Doomgar, and the mountain home would echo them back.

Plucking the strings, Holsley tried to relax and allow his fingers to do the work. Tried to relax. Stupid. He took a breath and remembered the song. It was a jovial, uplifting tune about the good times that followed hard-won battles. When he sang, he imagined a hall full of dwarves, drunk on ale and screaming the lyrics.

'A drink for each and every dwarf, for every dwarf that has come undone.

For friends, for kings, for families, and for battles past and won.

Never again to speak the words. Bring your peace upon the mountain,

Let your tears create a raging river and let your drinks flow like a fountain'.

The minutes passed as Holsley struggled through it. Most of the time, his fingers slipped awkwardly, or his voice strained, or he'd lose a part and awkwardly have to go back and play it again. Daldorra never seemed to notice. She just sat there, listening to him play. At the end of it, she gave a little clap.

'You've done some growin', lad.' She grinned. 'You can't quite play that song like 'e used to.'

'I don't think anyone could.'

'You could. In a few years' time.' Daldorra sighed. 'It's been so long. You look so much older.'

'No harm done,' replied Holsley, he put the redrose lute on the table. 'Do you want me to hand over the lute now?'

'I think I know somethin', lad.' She sniffed and her voice became but a whisper. 'You left the city so quickly. I was wonderin' if I would ever get to tell it. If I even should tell you, but I will. It's the right thing to do.'

'What is it?'

'Someone started the fire intentionally. I'm sure of it,' she breathed. A hot breeze of honey and caramel assaulted Holsley's nostrils. 'People saw Kythos entering and, from what I 'eard, he just bought a fancy new firelighter in the markets. I think 'e might have burnt down the tavern. Dan always had history with the Ravenpeaks and that bargain 'e struck, well, I'm sure it might be connected.'

'I'm sure it was just an accident,' replied Holsley.

'No, someone 'ad it out for Dan. If not Kythos, then someone,' replied Daldorra. 'They might 'ave it out for you, too. I thought it fair to warn you.'

'Everyone has it out for me these days,' replied Holsley, sombrely. He pushed the lute across the makeshift table. 'I believe this is yours now.'

Daldorra admired it for a moment. She ran her meaty fingers across the fine wood, gently tapped the strings. Holsley saw in it the memories the lute brought back. The nights of Dan standing in the corner, his soul on the strings. The dwarf smiled. 'Dan 'ad always told me 'e wanted to 'and it down to you. Like 'is father did for 'im.'

'Yeah, Dan did mention something about that.'

'You been playin' it?' A sharp eye glanced at Holsley. 'This ain't no ordinary lute. I know what it can do in the hands of untrained minstrels.'

'Only a little.'

'You must stop, lad.' Daldorra pushed it back. 'Buy another lute. Let this one rot.'

'I'm waiting for my other to be fixed,' he said, rubbing his arm. 'I've broken it one or two or three hundred times.'

'It 'as been three years. Why aren't you well trained in it by now?' she asked genuinely. 'Did you not practice every day, like Dan said?'

'No.' Holsley took a breath. 'Uh, I've fallen out of love with playing it. I can barely get a song straight anymore. I'm…it just hurts to play.'

'It's what you wanted, ever since you were a child,' she said, her face contorted in confusion. 'A famous bard. That's what you said. Travelling the roads, telling stories, and singing songs. Just like him.'

'Yeah, well—'

'You have to play through the 'urt, 'olsley,' she said. 'Each time you do, it will get easier. I promise. The 'ard part is makin' sure you keep playing', yeah?'

'Yeah. I'm getting that.'

Daldorra smiled. 'You are very much like 'im. You knew Dan when 'e was older and wiser. After 'e 'ad seen the world over a thousand times. You're only getting started, poor boy. Don't compare yourself to 'im.'

The dwarf pushed the lute back towards Holsley.

'Come back to Tressa when you're ready,' she said. 'Play for me the Sombre Streets of Yondere, and if you play well, I will give you the deed to the tavern.'

Holsley straightened.

'Really?'

She nodded. 'Dan would want you to 'ave it anyway, but only when you are ready. I'll look after it for you. Go and live those dreams, lad.'

Holsley didn't smile or say thank you. Those gestures were too simple. Instead, he leaned over and embraced the dwarf in a hug, holding her tightly, but barely getting his arms around her. A few days ago, he had come here hoping to avoid the Smiling Bard. Each day had brought more and more disaster and self-doubt upon him.

Today, though, he felt elated. It was ironic. Coming back to the Smiling Bard hadn't destroyed him like he thought it would. No, it had made him stronger.

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