The Red Letter

[Finn]

2 Ash 121
Phoma's

It had arrived last night while Finn was examining the work of his capstone project. Meeting with Talon had galvanized him, the sounds of his divine symphony still ringing in his mind. There within the privacy of his room, a single envelope was slipped under the door—a red letter perfumed with the scent of exotic flowers that was just tantalizing enough to not be overbearing. Inside was a piece of paper with the stylized symbol of a woman with one hand raised to her throat and mouth open as though in song. Strangely, he could hear the soft music of a woman singing in the distance, but when he tried to listen, it became a mere whisper on the edge of his senses. Trying to listen through his rune made it nearly impossible to hear. Flipping the paper over, he found a cryptic message:

'Where the curious pawn their secrets for coins, there you will find a gift for Her faithful.'

Today, he walked through the door of Phoma's, where he knew people came to pawn their goods and it certainly had a unique reputation. He didn't know if secrets were pawned here, but it was certainly a place with a quiet sense of mystery.

As he perused the things for sale on the ground floor, he considered the note. It sang. The only person he knew who might have crafted such a magical puzzle for him was Lyra, but he didn't think she would go to such efforts for her employee. She was mysterious and secretive in some ways, but she spoke fairly directly to him. He almost wished it had come the day before and he could have asked Talon about it. He was also the son of a Briathos, and so a master of things arcane. But he wasn't going to bother him again, at least not when he could apply his own mind to the strange message.

It seemed to hint at something for a musician, if not an actual follower of Syren. He couldn't claim to be religious, though he was respectful of holidays and such. He had prayed to Her before, though he wasn't a monk or someone who had a personal relationship with a deity. Well, he had a friendly sort of relationship with Talon, but they had only met a handful of times, really. Anyway, he imagined a true cult of Syren would only exist somewhere like Ecith, which might as well have been on one of the moons for how accessible it was to him.

But the song in his mind hadn't grown any stronger when he had perused most of the ground floor. He had found a few things that he might purchase to bring home with him the next time he saw his family, which ought to be soon. He didn't want to be traveling when winter came. Frost was much better spent in warm places. At least, if things continued to go well, he would have Arry to keep him warm.

At the stairwell leading up to the second floor, he turned and caught the gaze of Phoma herself. He pointed upward with a raised eyebrow, asking permission. She nodded. He smiled. Then, he ascended, curious what he might find up there.

[Finn]

Finn was certainly enjoying the exploration, the little treasures that he passed his hands over, though most of them, he felt, were intended for someone else and not him. Despite that pleasure, he got the feeling someone was playing a trick on him. He didn't quite understand why or to what end, but he resigned himself to that as he tried to at least enjoy the treasure trove.

When he returned to the ground floor, his arms were nearly full. Setting things down on the counter while Phoma wasn't there, he hurried back through the ground floor to pick up a few odds and bobs that he thought would make good presents for family back in the village. In the end, he waited at the counter to purchase those presents, as well as a folio of music written in some form of Elvish, possibly even Vallenor, that he would try to learn as well as translate, and an antique lute that needed quite a bit of love to possibly be playable again. He was no luthier, but he could certainly scour away the grime—there were hints of inlay that might still look beautiful.

If repairs were necessary, he would have to learn how to repair a lute beyond the little things he knew just from playing for so long. Perhaps the note hadn't been a lie. Perhaps the project would bring him closer to his music. He tried to cling to that optimistic hope rather than feel disappointed.

While waiting for Phoma to return, he checked how much he had on him between coin and lighter, more convenient bills from the bank. They were easier for larger purchases, and he did run to the bank with some frequency to deposit excess tips, as well. He wished there were some course he could take while still at the Academy that would help him learn how to make his money work for him; so many of the artists he knew spent money as they made it, so even the successful ones rarely had much saved. He would like to be different if possible.

[Paragon]

P A R A G O N

Sifting through the items that he had gathered, Finn’s hand brushed against the lute that he had picked up. Some of the dust that seemed caked to the instrument was nudged aside revealing a small symbol. A simple treble clef etched into the arm of the lute beneath where some of the strings were supposed to be. It was a blood red symbol that once revealed had a shimmering metallic sheen to it. As Finn stared at it, his vision was drawn to it. The longer he stared, the brighter the symbol grew. A red-violet light that whispered passion and pleasure, wonder and excitement, glory and horror all at once. The spectrum of all emotion was captured in that single moment and around it was the sound of the lute’s music calling to Finn. Exquisite and playful, the promise of an adventure of grand proportions or a life of humble joy.

“Found what you needed, I see.” Phoma’s voice cut through the vision and the shop came back into focus. The grandmotherly woman was dusting her hands off on her apron as she made her way toward Finn. There was a small smile on her lips. She stared at the young bard over her half-moon spectacles.

“Will that be all?” A glance at the lute and it was completely normal. The musical note etched upon it did not shimmer and shift. It was, to look at it, still the dusty and in need of repairs instrument that Finn had picked up. It was covered in dirt. The polish was cracked and in need of reapplication. The strings to the lute were missing or frayed.

[Finn]

When a chance movement moved some of the grime where delicate scratching hadn't yielded much, he found his attention pulled to the simple clef. It was not strange and unusual in and of itself, but it seemed to pulse like metallic blood, and it almost felt as though his Mesmer had kicked in and full strength in the middle of a crowded room. He swayed, almost bowled over by a lute's music, coming from somewhere else as it was lacking in strings and the one that lingered wasn't even taut.

Phoma's voice cut in abruptly and everything burst like a delicate soap bubble in a breeze. The clef was there, but it wasn't magical nor did he hear anything. Perhaps he needed something to eat; while juggling his various responsibilities, he did forget to eat enough, drink enough, and sleep enough. Sometimes his mind swam to remind him to take better care of himself. He smiled a bit sheepishly for letting his mind wander.

"I believe so, yes," he said, straightening his shoulders and his stance. "Presents for my family when next I return to the village, and a couple of musical projects for me, as well." He looked from the folio to the battered lute, then back to the proprietor of the shop. He pulled out the letter from his coat pocket and showed it to her. It still smelled of exotic flowers, albeit faintly. He could still faintly hear music, though it might very well have been his imagination. He certainly heard music when he was composing it, or when reading music put to paper. That was not a gift everyone shared, he found, not even all musicians. Whether that made him special or not, he didn't know or care. It was just a thing.

"Can you make anything out of this?" he asked hopefully. "It showed up under my door."

But her smile was mysterious and she had nothing definitive to offer, as he rather suspected. The woman's mystique was part of her shop's success and he knew better than to try to interfere with that. While it occurred to him to listen to her symphony, he wasn't going to attempt to coerce information out of her. When he did listen, she had a song that was beautiful but opaque. It would require hours of meditation and listening to suss anything out of her, even with his bit of magic.

When he turned that magical sense upon the room in general, it only grew in complexity, not sense. He found he liked the feel of it, though, and thought he would return if he was ever looking for a gift for someone, or needed something but didn't know what it was. It had a magic to it like his grandmother had owned, mysterious and possibly cultivated.

"Oh, well," he said, smiling again as he tucked the letter away. "It brought me here, brought you coin, and now I can bring all this home."

Finn settled the score, filled his rucksack with most of this find, and then carried the lute back to the Crown and Lion, stopping for a bit of food in the taproom. In his room, he gave the instrument a thorough washing and dried it carefully so moisture wouldn't get to the wood and cause rot or warping. It definitely needed a bit of careful sanding and resealing, but he thought it was something he could do rather than take it to a luthier. After its bath, it was revealed as a lute with character, although he didn't know whether it was a gift for Syren's faithful any more than any instrument was.

Remembering something, he pulled the spellthread Talon had gifted him with seasons ago. It was all one gauge, so he knew that if it worked, he would have to get varying gauges to have the full range of notes, but it seemed a worthy experiment. He secured one end to the bridge, then pulled it taut across the nut. He had to carefully cut it short so there was enough to thread it through a peg and tighten it. But first, he doubled the string into a proper course, and secured both threads through the tuning peg. He plucked with his thumb repeatedly as he sought out which note it would want to sing when properly tuned—and there it was.

It must have been the spellthread, but he felt his Rune tingle on his scalp as the sound emanated and hummed in the air.

He smiled. It would be a project, of course, but perhaps that was the gift—the journey as much as the destination.

[Paragon]

P A R A G O N

The note that was strummed from the instrument rang with a pure clarity that stirred emotion inside of Finn. It called to him, even with the single resonance that filled the silence of his home. It was almost perfect and though it rang true, it certainly felt incomplete. Cleaned, it showed itself to be a decent instrument and scratched into the wood was a symbol that looked like a treble clef, red and metallic.

R E W A R D S

Name: Finn
XP: 15, may be used for magic.
Requested Lore: +8 Lores


Note(s): +1 Scarlet Lute

The lute is certainly in need of some love and attention. The application of the single string of spellthread has revealed that there is something other about the music produced by the lute. Please notify me when you have completely repaired it and applied strings to it. Perhaps strings made from more Spellthread may yet reveal more secrets.