"Fucking Bards!" A shopkeep screamed as a man, dressed in what could only be described as peacock skinned clothes, ran away from his stand.
It was time for the Annual Bard Festival.
Every year people would flock from every neighboring town to Lakeside Village to take part in this vibrant and exciting event. Drinks and women were always in abundance and the music played continuously for the week long event.
The festival not only provided entertainment for the town, but also revenue. Any traveling merchant with a good sense for business knew the Bard Festival was an amazing opportunity to make a large profit. Since every shop is set in a booth outside, the customers are forced to walk past and gaze at their wares. Making it that much easier to entice those looking to part with their coin.
The village tavern set up a large canopy with 50 large tables underneath that always seemed to be packed. The barmaids ran back and forth all night, requiring rests here and there, but the bartender was by far the busiest man. Constantly pouring and mixing and cleaning. Those who watched too long would begin to grow exhausted themselves. Yet the man had a grin on his face and was always friendly with the customers (Anyone would if they were making that much money).
Blacksmiths and shopkeeps alike had their wares displayed around their shops in locked display boxes with upgraded security. Though it is the time the town brings in the most profit, it's still the Bard Festival. Those who knew what type of people bards were knew they could be great for entertainment, but that's where the pleasantries ended. Bards were notorious for the unimaginable amount of trouble they could cause. So everyone was on high alert.
People of all backgrounds and races could be seen throughout the celebration. There were Dwarves and Dragonborns debating whether scales or stones held more beauty, Orcs and Goliaths challenging each other's strength, and Halflings running through the legs of Humans yelling and playing with the other children.
Your status in life, nor your class mattered when attending the festival. The rich would buy rounds and rounds of ale and the beggars were always given a place at someone's table.
Everyone was in good spirits and ready for the Bard's Bonfire tomorrow night. Throughout the festival, every bard in attendance throws an instrument to the pile as a sacrifice to whichever god they worshipped. They would pray for wealth, or glory, and some just hoped that they might continue to live and play in health. Then to signify the end of the festival, the pile would be lit ablaze and as the strings snapped and the wood creaked, the festival would have one last night of debauchery and mischief before the sunrise.
The instruments were still being piled and were not to be lit until the following night. This year has been the most profitable for the town due to the immense turnout. The tavern workers are pleased with the gold they have earned, but are looking forward to the end of the festival. It seemed that next year they will have to, yet again, double their tables and triple their bar maids so hopefully none collapse from exhaustion. The table of Half-Orcs were not too happy to see their ale "water the dirt instead of their tongues" as they said.
Luckily a drunk man stumbled over and screamed, "5 rounsh of ale fer my Orc friensh!" The orcs erupted in cheers and made the man drink with them for the rest of the night. He was later found face down in a puddle of his own puke giggling to himself.