Troupe Lore, Vol.2

Six years after the Feathered Troupe's outcast due to its conflicts with SilverEye Troupe, one of the Marrow (Masters of Harmony) died from consuming too much Pinkdust while surrounded by women in his tent. Three members of the troupe attended his funeral: the other two Masters, and myself. I was twenty-three years old.

Several spontaneous meetings occurred to decide on a new Master of Harmony to complete the broken diaconate. Basing their debate on gender balance, they elected me.

Two poetry students of mine, an elf and a drow, were insistent on achieving only morbid styles of writing. Eight months into their schooling, they were found rotting in a Mahn-Tor jail cell for stealing from surrounding crop lands. Members of the Elven Valley refused to help them when asked for support, and I saw them once after they had died from weathering.

Members gradually bled off as agnostic fervency in the Troupe grew. The idea was never to become a rebel, but with the way some Troupe members preached the folly of the Higher Planes, rebels were unavoidable. A band of guitarists in the Troupe called "A Steppe in the Rift" came to me for information on Rheydin temple architecture, as they had never even been to the city before; one of them was stupid enough to tell me that they were going to burn one of the temples at dawn. I rushed to Rheydin to warn the priests, and the plot against them was thwarted. As far as I know, those band members are still in the Miruvhor prison to this day.

It was not long before every younger member was thought to be imprisoned or dead. The Feathered Troupe had no way to spread its philosophy in the inner cities, and even had to avoid outlying cities for fear of being outcast even further. Then Tribunes began to hunt.

On my twenty-fifth birthday, me, another Marrow, and about ten Troupe members set up a camp outside Ofcol. Apparently, while I slept, they had snuck into the city to steal liquor (mead mostly), and were spotted on their way out after carelessly knocking over a statue. To silence the witnesses of the nearby residence, they broke down the door of the home, murdered the inhabitants, and hid the bodies in the ceiling. The moment I woke up and saw them laughing in the camp with blood soaked hands, I ejected myself from the Troupe and made residence in Khorandain. A week later, I read in a Roll Call that a young Martineius had destroyed the remainder of my old, outlawed Feathered Troupe.