The Tiger and the Lady

"Many of you have no doubt heard of Mercicon, the White Tigeress of Laposter, and how she traveled the lands in pursuit of adventure." Darrin Trailsong, master bard, began to lay out the tale before the small crowd gathering within. It wasn't often he had the opportunity to perform these days; most folks were content to come to his Whistling Swan Inn merely for a meal, a room, and a performance from a visiting minstrel. Nonetheless, here he was, sitting in the center of his inn, spreading a tale before an ever-growing legion of appreciative fans. "You have, of course, heard about her adventures in Deliumcenisis, have you not? No? Ah, then I shall share what I know.

"Well, the tale goes a bit like this. It seems that Mercicon, not content to settle in one place as most folk often are, got it in her mind to do a little traveling by boat, sailing to the far north with on the exploratory vessel Shasta's Folly. I'll spare you the sordid details of the trip-- that, in and of itself, is another tale, one not for the faint of heart, I tell you! But I digress. Mercicon."

"Weretigers-- her kind," he continued, taking a pull on his flagon, "are by nature a restless race. Upon making landfall, she felt that it was time for her to wander on once again. Knowing very little about these lands, she asked the local folk where would be the best place for her to go. The decision was unanimous. 'There is but one place for you to go,' they told her. 'And that is to the capital city, Deliumcenisis.'"

A great silence fell over the crowd, all spellbound by the tale. It was Darrin's newest serving girl, Rory, unfamiliar with his storytelling style, who first opened her mouth. "Delia-who?" she asked, prompting the bard to continue his tale.

"Deliumcenisis, Rory," Darrin repeated. "A castle of gleaming spires, I'm told, reaching out to touch the gods in the sky like a babe for his mother, a place where all worries are lost and where naught but Light shall ever reign. Even the well-traveled tigress was in awe of the place. Once she was invited inside, Mercicon met the man who was king: Centurious Tabor, a handsome, charming fellow who had a grasp on not only how to rule, but on how to rule wisely-- a rare trait in a ruler, I must say. So impressed was she by this man that she knelt before him on sight, pledging to serve him loyally, until her own death, in whatever capacity he saw most fit.

"Quite the surprise this was to Tabor. After a few moments of deep thought, he found the best place for her unique talents and abilities: guarding his young sons, Boreas and Rothan, and their sister Aurora, in her tiger form so that neither they, nor those who might wish to do them harm, would know of the true nature of the princes' and princess' protector. Mercicon's true secret was shared between only the King and the closest of his closest advisors."

Darrin took another swig of the ale and continued. "But like all fairy tales of castles and kings, of princes and queens, a dark time fell upon the house of Tabor. Centurious Tabor himself was slain, and his sons, his family, and his kingdom were thrown into turmoil. The gleaming spires of Deliumcenisis stood alone and empty, during what were the darkest days of the kingdom.

"Along, then, came the Council: ten individuals who banded together with one another to try and save Centurious' realm. None of the ten knew where to find the missing prince and future king-- that is, until the day the Tigress, tail swaying grandly, sauntered into the room in all her feline glory. Few among the Council thought anything of this; after all, this tiger was little more than a beloved pet and fierce protector of three lost children. But then, the most startling thing happened.

"Mercicon, eyes shining with not only the feral determination of her species, but with a sense humanity far greater than any in that room possessed, began her transformation, standing proudly in all her true form before the Council. Her body changed from that of a sleek predator to that of a lithe human, standing bolt upright as she walked to the dais, even as her forepaws became hands, clenched in a pair of determined fists. She stared the leader of the Council in the eye and told them of her true self. 'I am Mercicon of Laposter-beyond-the-sea,' she began after a few tense moments, 'and I have come to restore the rightful king to his throne.'

"'That,' said one shocked councilman, 'is impossible. What could a monstrosity such as yourself do that we cannot?'

"No more foolish word was ever uttered," Darrin said, smiling as he leaned back in his chair. "No sooner did the word 'monstrosity' leave his mouth than did Mercicon transform again and that one councilman found himself with six hundred pounds of unhappy tiger on his chest, pinning him helplessly to the floor. 'Would you carrre'," the master bard said, imitating the tigress' feline growl in his voice, "'to rrrephrrrase that question, sirrr?'

"Things happened rather quickly from that moment on. A day later, Mercicon was charged with what was to be her greatest quest: Find the children of Tabor, and restore order to the once-proud kingdom of Deliumcenisis. From that day forward the White Tigeress stalked the land, searching for the rightful rulers, the sons of Tabor." He nodded once and folded his arms, signifying that his tale was at an end.

A few moments later, following the familiar sound of congratulatory applause for a tale well told, the crowd began to disperse to the sounds of wild speculation of where the Lady Tiger could be, or where the sons Boreas and Rothan could be; some folks even claimed to have traveled with the men or the feline. It was his newest employee, the serving girl Rory, who questioned Darrin as he tipped back a second mug of his finest. "What about the daughter?" she said, wiping down her boss's table.

The bard smiled. "Nothing's ever really been discovered of the daughter; it's as though she merely disappeared. It isn't the daughter that is the concern of the tale, dear Rory, but the quest for the sons, and the determination of one lone stranger." Darrin shrugged. "The daughter's tale, Rory-- as with many bardic tales-- lies unfinished."

Rory tossed the bar rag over her shoulder, effectively covering a mostly bare shoulder sporting a small, solitary tattoo of a rose vine entwined around a triangle-- the royal crest of House Tabor of Deliumcenisis. "Aurora Tabor...?" Darrin whispered breathlessly.

Rory winked, smiled, and held a finger to her lips to silence the bard while echoing her master's statement. "Aye, m'lord," she said, turning to continue her duties around the inn. "Perhaps there is a reason that the daughter's tale, m'lord-- as with many bardic tales-- lies unfinished. Just promise that you'll never forget that even the best tales lie only a secret away from being complete."