A Cabaret in the Umbrium
33rd of Frost, Year 122 of Steel
The cabaret was a decent size. At least, the main room was—Finn hadn't done too much exploring beyond that. It was a square, the walls painted black and a faint haze of smoke clinging to the magical lamps above. He watched the sets before his in the lineup, always keen to learn things from other artists that might inspire new directions in his own composition and performance. Nights like this were a small joy. The clientele was well-heeled enough to afford the prices of entry and refreshments, but there was an unspoken agreement that nobody paid too much attention to who was who. Here he was himself rather than the amatus of the princeps draconis, and it was the release of a pressure valve for him.
Finn only drank water before his own set, not wanting to dry out his throat with alcohol or lose his sense of pitch. Even if he could beguile with Rune alone, he was a purist, and frequently performed without using his Mesmer, which struck many a Solunarian as strange when so many artists used it as a matter of course. It was just another way to distinguish himself, though it also seemed a bit like cheating. He was learning to make judicious use of it, though, if only as another layer of composition.
When the woman before him in the lineup began to dance, he pushed his empty glass away, thanked the bartender quietly, and disappeared into a side door that led to an antechamber where the various artists had stowed their instruments. He found his lute and began to tune it, but it was the finest of fine tuning as he had already tuned it before leaving it here. He had warmed up before he came. All he had to do was wait his turn.
When the dancer returned, she gave him a measuring look. He responded with a smile and a pulse of Majesty. Her eyes widened in awe as he moved out of the antechamber and toward the stage as "Finn Farstrider!" was announced. Though the introduction was in Vastian, they left his name in Common. Translating it into Vastian lost the alliteration, anyway.
"Thank you," he said for the introduction and the applause. "I only have one song for you tonight."
And then he sang. When he did begin to thread Mesmer into the music, it was a subtle thing, growing slowly in strength and complexity. The music flirted; the Mesmer incited a quiet lust. Aværys had stoked a hunger for adulation in him, and Aværys wanted him to pull people into his orbit, so he let his music do it for him, and opened up his Majesty toward the end of the song, leaving the audience awed and aroused. If there were a Sembler in the crowd, they would know that some of that wasn't Mesmer at all. There was just something about Finn Farstrider.
"Thank you," he said again, humbly, and bowed. The maître d' had trouble following him on stage, and so there was a bit of a delay before the next act.
Finn put his lute carefully in its case and then considered repairing immediately to the Palatium Umbrarum, but decided to go out and enjoy a drink before he did so. And that was how he found himself back at the bar, this time ordering something stronger than water. The lute case went under the bar where he could keep track of it.
33rd of Frost, Year 122 of Steel
The cabaret was a decent size. At least, the main room was—Finn hadn't done too much exploring beyond that. It was a square, the walls painted black and a faint haze of smoke clinging to the magical lamps above. He watched the sets before his in the lineup, always keen to learn things from other artists that might inspire new directions in his own composition and performance. Nights like this were a small joy. The clientele was well-heeled enough to afford the prices of entry and refreshments, but there was an unspoken agreement that nobody paid too much attention to who was who. Here he was himself rather than the amatus of the princeps draconis, and it was the release of a pressure valve for him.
Finn only drank water before his own set, not wanting to dry out his throat with alcohol or lose his sense of pitch. Even if he could beguile with Rune alone, he was a purist, and frequently performed without using his Mesmer, which struck many a Solunarian as strange when so many artists used it as a matter of course. It was just another way to distinguish himself, though it also seemed a bit like cheating. He was learning to make judicious use of it, though, if only as another layer of composition.
When the woman before him in the lineup began to dance, he pushed his empty glass away, thanked the bartender quietly, and disappeared into a side door that led to an antechamber where the various artists had stowed their instruments. He found his lute and began to tune it, but it was the finest of fine tuning as he had already tuned it before leaving it here. He had warmed up before he came. All he had to do was wait his turn.
When the dancer returned, she gave him a measuring look. He responded with a smile and a pulse of Majesty. Her eyes widened in awe as he moved out of the antechamber and toward the stage as "Finn Farstrider!" was announced. Though the introduction was in Vastian, they left his name in Common. Translating it into Vastian lost the alliteration, anyway.
"Thank you," he said for the introduction and the applause. "I only have one song for you tonight."
And then he sang. When he did begin to thread Mesmer into the music, it was a subtle thing, growing slowly in strength and complexity. The music flirted; the Mesmer incited a quiet lust. Aværys had stoked a hunger for adulation in him, and Aværys wanted him to pull people into his orbit, so he let his music do it for him, and opened up his Majesty toward the end of the song, leaving the audience awed and aroused. If there were a Sembler in the crowd, they would know that some of that wasn't Mesmer at all. There was just something about Finn Farstrider.
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Finn put his lute carefully in its case and then considered repairing immediately to the Palatium Umbrarum, but decided to go out and enjoy a drink before he did so. And that was how he found himself back at the bar, this time ordering something stronger than water. The lute case went under the bar where he could keep track of it.
