He Glories All Effulgent

[Finn]

The Luxian Forum
20th of Frost, Year 123 of Steel


Only recently returned from his island holiday with Arvælyn, the bard was surprised to find a free morning so soon. But he was not one to look a gift horse in the mouth. He had broken his fast with his parents in the Luxium, gone to train with Vespera's golden warriors, and was now watching the River Vasta flow sluggishly past the Atraxian capital, a lyre tucked into his elbow as he plucked at a melody that wasn't quite fully formed in his head, mouthing words that might or might not be braided into the music. Suffice it to say the song hadn't achieved its final form.

Finn sat in the dappled shade of palm trees. A nearby fountain plashed, cooling the air and inspiring him. He didn't realize it yet, so engrossed in his creation and his people-watching, but as soon as he gave paid his body any mind, he would realize that he wanted something for lunch.

While he wasn't taking up a prime busking spot—he tried not to draw income from those who were struggling as he had in Kalzasi—but his musical explorations drew some interest. There wasn't a jar or case or hat set up to collect tips, though, so while foot traffic might eddy near him, he didn't stop the flow. Some likely recognized him, or at least suspected who he was, his features far from Vastian. He didn't delve into their minds to know for sure; it seemed rude when it couldn't be reciprocated. Finn was unlike most Mesmers in Solunarium, needing affirmative consent or imminent peril before doing much more than nudging a melody.

In any case, had they wanted to hear the symphony that poured off of him on the aetheric plane, they would have been disappointed. When not wearing his Sentinel blacks, Cithæra demanded that he wear defenses against psychic intrusion lest the crown's secrets be leaked through him. He didn't know what all was meant to be a secret sometimes, so he just tended to smile and keep his mouth shut. Better safe than sorry, and better to be silent and be thought a fool than open his mouth and prove it.

"The sun, whose rays are all ablaze with ever-living glory,
Does not deny his majesty;" he hummed a placeholder.
"He won't exclaim, "I blush for shame, so kindly be indulgent."
But, fierce and bold, in fiery gold, he glories all effulgent!""

Aværys and Varvara hadn't been impressed with his song in the caldera of Mount Kaladon, but the god had marked Finn out as his own rather than another priest and prince like Vrædyn. He had become a warrior and many other things besides in order to remain in Solunarium and to remain, as Zalkyriax cautioned, useful to Arvælyn.

"I mean to rule the earth, as he the sky.
We really know our worth, the sun and I..."

Perhaps it was a young, mortal Aværys proclaiming his Ambition and Hunger. Perhaps it was Finn understanding his own desires as Aværys had helped him see. He would continue to tool around with it and see.

[Aegis]

It started with a single note, strummed off of a lute, carried on the wind, finding its way into Finn's ear. Just enough to perhaps cause a pause. No one else around was seeming to notice. The people around him continued to wander about, tossing coins and admiring the setting Finn was helping to improve.

Then a single line seemed to work its way through the crowd and wrap around Finn, following the same melody he himself had set.

"The sun shone down o'er the island with mother's caring mercy..."

The voice was proud, feminine, and seemed to wrap her arms around Finn as she sang.

"A life laid down for them all."

Many people now were stopping at the sound now. They all first looked at Finn, then realizing it wasn't him making that beautiful music, began to look around for whoever it might be, turning away from Finn, forgetting about him and his song. There was, however, one individual pointedly not looking around for the source of the music, a young elfen lad, or perhaps a mixed elf it could be hard to tell in this part of town sometimes, was leaning up against a building, his eyes on Finn with a smile twisted in its smugness upon his face.

"She did exclaim, "I stand tall, shine my summer's light radiant-"
"A tear, heavy and cold fell, as the world's fire crashed o'er her"

The song was now dipping and weaving through the people, making it seemingly impossible to follow it to the source. It was caressing every ear and whimsying away in a breath, carried by the breeze and propelled by the gasps of those listening. However, one sound was sent to Finn's ears and his alone.

A single, teasing, feminine laugh.

[Finn]

There was no discord, no dissonance, but Finn found himself distracted, as if the song that he was coaxing into life seemed to slip out from his grasp to be taken up by another instrument, another voice. His own voice quieted, though he continued to pluck at his lyre, accompanying woman and lute.

In no great hurry, his gaze rose to look for the woman, but found only other people looking for her. He sensed no Mesmer at work, but his interest could always be piqued by pure music. When his gaze caught that of a young elven lad smirking at him, it confused him. He was only too happy to collaborate with other artists, but to have his song stolen before it was fully formed stoked Aværys' own hunger in his heart, hunger to own his own creations, the fruits of his creative labors.

The boy made him pause, confused. But he wasn't the one singing, playing, but he also wasn't seeking the elusive woman whose song confounded them all. Even her laughter was musical.

Eventually, he unfolded himself from where he sat and began to walk. As long as the song continued, he continued to harmonize and accompany on the lyre, knowing the song well enough to do so even if it wasn't entirely in his hands any longer. Unable to find her still, he approached the lad, wondering if he didn't look because he could already see her, or already knew from whence she played and sang and laughed and drew the attention of the madding crowd.

When close enough, he was polite enough to meet the lad's gaze when he spoke: "Salve," he greeted, his Vastian long since fluent. "Do you know her?"

Finn wanted to know her. Perhaps she, too, could follow Lystreia's path and become a Singer.

[Aegis]

The lad spoke, if such a thing could be said about the sounds that came out of his mouth in the form of his foreign accent. "Ar. Ar nar er. Bern plairin yar sorngs arl werk." The sound of particularly rough gravel bowled through wet sponge cloths that accidentally resembled speech might be one way to describe this man's aggressively foreign accent.

"Charngin erm arll arlsor."

His face, within closer inspection, showed a rough stubble uncommon in many elves, a couple of pock marks as well. His clothing was a cloak that might be found among the peoples that lived way out in the sands, opened to reveal a finely tailored shirt of gnomish make, muddied trousers that looked rather similar to a style that was fashionable in Kalzasi two or three years ago, a pocket watch of distinctly Imperial make.

But then the man spoke in Vastian, perfect, melodic Vastian without a hint of his horrid Common accent. "But surely a troubadour of your renown can spare a few coins to sate a curiosity, no?"

A hand came from his trousers pocket, causing a brilliant ivory blade with inset jewels to fall out. A small kick sent the knife tumbling back up to his hand, and back into his pocket once more. Back in his Common, "Sorrer, Arm ar birt urngorver tordar."

Collecting himself once more, "Gort arniertirng ter eart? Ar per ar twirn war mer ourt lars nurt."

He coughed and hacked into his elbow, pulling out a wooden box from an unseen pocket. He tapped it twice to his palm and a hand rolled cigarette, brown from the leaves used, fell out. He offered it to Finn, giving it away without concern before taking one himself, putting it to his lips, already lit up and smoldering without any sign of a match or magic.

"Sor? Corn fur mur torts?

[Finn]

The accent he heard was startling, barely understandable, and so he was struck for a moment. When the words translated, registering, the man began to speak in Vastian much more clearly, then switched back. It was as treacherous as the deck of the ship that had brought him from Cathena to Solunarium. It seemed the man knew the owner of that voice as well as Finn, which no longer surprised him. He could wish it were for the quality of his music, but while he knew his own skill, he was famous because he was the crown prince's lover. Well, it could certainly be worse.

While he was talented, he couldn't play the lyre with only one hand, so he brought his accompaniment to a close, slung it over his shoulder, and dug a hand into his pocket. He didn't carry coin on him usually, but he was able to open a small portal from his pocket to his rooms in the Palatium Umbrarum. Arvælyn liked to keep what he called "petty cash" around, but he probably was just so used to being poor that he wanted stashes of coin against a rainy day or other emergency. Finn could certainly understand.

Even as he pulled his hand out of his pocket, he was offered a cigarrillo, which he accepted because he wasn't swift enough to decline. He didn't smoke things—bad for the lungs and the throat and all. While he could survive without his singing voice now, he just didn't want to, so he thanked the man, stuffed it into his pocket while spreading his hand. Three gold coins rested on his palm—oh, it was the stranger's lucky day. No silver, no copper; only gold.

"Should eat something heavy and fried," he suggested in Vastian, which seemed to be the man's more native language. "Settles the stomach. Soaks up those acids." He shrugged, smiled, waiting for him to take the coins. Not so very long ago, he too had busked for his bread, and now money was functionally immaterial even though he collected his wages from the Vigilia Argenti and stashed it against an emergency, much like Arvælyn's cash that was "petty."

[Aegis]

The man gratefully accepted the gold coins, bringing one up to his mouth, testing the gold with a gentle bite. Satisfied, they disappeared into a pocket, and he replied in Vastian, "That sounds great, laddie." He beamed, "My treat, there's a place around the corner run by a pair of siblings with amazing buns, and lovely fried goods as well." He paused, "Oh, and you can call me Rory."

He turned with a soft swish of his cloak. The siren song that had been haunting Finn seemed to have stopped for now, though something about the silence seemed to suggest that it was not yet finished. "Seems the divine dice have rolled in your favor here in this cracked hourglass." He wove through the crowd of people, humming lightly between the conversation.

"Ah, there it is."

A small lunch cafe up ahead, Chonny and Ser's, according to the painted banner in the wind. The tables were largely full, and a man with a particularly large and well formed posterior was currently bent over, serving a plate of something fried. Likely a desert lizard of some sort. As Rory passed by a table, a jug of water was knocked over by an errant customer, causing a small puddle in the stone path. Rory, lost in his humming, didn't seem to notice. As he went along, he stepped upon the puddle, and continued on, without leaving a ripple behind or water stains upon the stones.

As he approached the entrance to the seating of the restaurant, he wandered in, dropping into a table, pulling out one of his gold coins and holding it up, "Two plates, two drinks."

Two goblets of wine were rushed over and set upon the table, Rory bringing one up, "Cheers."

As they sipped, a voice from across the street began to sing out, accompanied by a lute. She was singing another song of Finn's, one from his days in Kalzasi, though once again, the lyrics changed, some of the points of intonation and inflection changed, adjusting the entire tone of the song.

Except this time, it wasn't from some unknown source. No, this time, she was standing there, plain as day, across the street, strumming on her lute, her amber colored eyes watching Finn with amusement and excitement. She continued to play, never taking her eyes off of him, telling the altered stories, a bit of a playful upturn in her grin.

"Seems she likes you laddie."

[Finn]

If someone had told him Vastian would be easier to understand than Common a mere year ago, he would have laughed, but such was the way of things. And so regulated was Solunarium that his work with the Vigilia Argenti made him quick to notice oddities, which this most definitely was. He didn't sense danger, so he didn't seek out a nearby Sentinel's symphony to trigger an alert. In any case, the desert was a demanding place and Solunarium demanded much of its people. If he couldn't handle a bit of oddity on his own, then perhaps he wasn't cut out for the blacks, let alone the golds that came with being affianced to the throne.

Finn followed the stranger, wondering if he had stuck out so much when he was but newly a peregrinus.

"Rory," he greeted as they began to walk. "You can call me Finn."

The pace didn't avail itself to conversation, so he just smiled and nodded at the comment. Keen eyes noticed the unblemished mirror of water on Rory's passing. A bit of glamour wasn't unheard of among artists here, nor Command. But he could be leery of things not being as they appeared, and pay attention to the symphonies in which he was immersed.

"Thanks," he said for the wine, although his gold had largely covered it. But paying it forward was generally something to be encouraged, he thought. The woman's song had caught his ear even before Rory mentioned it, but he gave her a good look anyway, tuning into her symphony as well, wanting more answers than possible glamours were likely to tell him.

"She certainly seems to know my playbook," he allowed thoughtfully. Perhaps he didn't sense danger, but something was afoot. It wouldn't be the first time someone sought to get to Arvælyn through him, or even Aværys. It saddened him to know his art was more valued as an in toward Powers, but that was the way of the world. Plenty of bards before him had pointed such things out more glibly than he had.

"'Tis a compliment, I shouldn't wonder," he said, turning his gaze back upon Rory and attempting to tune into his symphony as well. If he wasn't quite so powerful as Arvælyn, there were few who were allowed to block him and all of them were Solunarian royalty or politicians. "But that is the nature of a good song... people take it, feel it, and make it their own, use it to tell their own stories. Don't you think?"

[Aegis]

As Finn tuned into the singing woman's symphony, he would find it vibrant and jubilant and full of mirth. This woman made no attempt to veil that she was having the absolute best of times, playing her teasing songs, her eyes dancing across the crowd, but occasionally, and for just a moment longer than else where, pausing to look upon Finn. And in that elongated moment, her smile would stretch a bit more. And as it did, her eyes would be carried away by the next notes of her song, to find another fan or another hater that couldn't look away. There was no obvious danger or deception tucked in that symphony of hers, simply a musician deeply enraptured by the art they created and reveling in the response of those around them.

"A compliment of the highest order, I'd think, coming from one such as she."

As Finn tuned into Rory, however, he'd find something else entirely. There was no stone wall, no invisible barrier, no trading of unseen blows to keep one out. No, tuning into Rory would be the easiest thing in the world, the most open of books. However, reading that book would be another thing entirely. His symphony seemed to be shifting and changing constantly. In one moment, he seemed to be just another man, one with a fondness for kebabs and the saxophone, and in the next, a woman down on her luck, trying to decide between selling her hand or her virtue. On and on these changes occurred, with no readily discernible pattern.

Rory's eyes had a small twinkle in them as he found Finn's own and in that moment, the song changed.

"Oh to be a man who peers under every stone
To be the dog constantly fetching the bone
Oh to be the one holding all the cards
To be anything save for one of us Bards."

Rory sipped on his wine, casting his gaze back out toward the singing woman, "I think songs, in their ever changing forms, are wonderful at connecting people in ways they might not ever have predicted." He raised his wine, seemingly in a toast, as the woman moved through the crowd with the ease of a courtesan moving through the patrons of the Velvet Cabaret. As she arrived she grabbed Rory's offered wine, and ignored the disappointed looks of the crowd that had been listening to her.

"Have you come to save me?"

She downed a long pull from the wine, handing the empty cup back to the man who snorted, "As if you've ever needed saving."

She smirked and pumped her eyebrows before turning toward Finn, "Hello Finn, I've been trying to meet you for some time now. Quite the busy man these days it seems."

A waiter approached, and the woman held up three fingers, before gracefully sliding around Finn to sit on his right.

She plucked some food off of Rory's plate, chomping it down greedily. "I'm starved, been at it since sunrise. I think my fingers are ready to fall off just to get away from me."

She turned in her chair toward Finn, resting her head in her hand, one elbow on the table, "I'm Merry, a Bard of middling repute, and I've been dying to ask you a question."

Her face was soft, kind, warm and welcoming, her eyes sparkling with curiosity and desire.

"When Her lute was cast into the fires of the mountain by your hand, did it perform a swan song? Was it beautiful? Haunting? Pained?"

[Finn]

Finn nodded at Rory's comment; there was a special something about a sincere compliment from another musician. Even their cutting comments were often a sign of jealousy rather than a lack of regard. He tried not to be petty, but there were sticky melodies, perfect lyrics, and even entire songs it made him downright mad he hadn't come up with himself, as if he recognized them as faces he had seen in a crowd, faces of people he had wanted to meet, but hadn't been able to reach before someone else had. He wasn't certain what he thought about the artistic process anymore, whether bards were merely channels for something or someone greater, whether they were creators or merely interpreters. It was a curious thought experiment in the end. Music was the one thing he didn't think he could live without. Living without Arvælyn would tear his heart out, but he could write of it, sob his heart out, sing. Living without Aværys might tear a part of his soul out, but he was merely human and didn't quite understand the full extent of that bond.

Living without music would not be living.

Rory was an oddity, to be sure, and his friend seemed more normal. She was masterful with the crowd, and Finn was applauding as she wandered over to their table. Five years ago, he would have enjoyed this without shadows of doubt. But now he lived in the shadowed realm of the draconic dominance. He was a part of the secret police, though he focused on keeping the population safe from creatures of great power.

He had been trained to doubt, to question, and with Rory's mutable symphony, he couldn't help but feel as though he was outnumbered when she joined them, as if they were contending. His bemused smile grew quizzical for a moment, as she introduced herself, already knew more about him than he knew about her, and immediately dove in a direction without context.

Finn wasn't stupid, but he wasn't the quickest. He had gotten better at reaction thoughtfully as a permanent fixture in Solunarian politics. He put two and two together, head canting to the side. His sacrifice to Varvara had been quite public; spirituality in Solunarium was a public thing, and even moreso for him as he had been selected specifically by Aværys. Eyes were ever upon him.

"When I surrendered my lute, sacrificed it to the Mother of Darkness, the Templum Mediæ Noctis Matris was ringing with Her hymns. She caught it and transformed it, so I would imagine if the lute sang an undertone, I suppose it would have been the cry of a newborn."

The lute had born a mark of Syren, though he hadn't known if it was more than mere paint. He had treated it as if it were, but then, he always took care of his instruments. While the tawdry topic of coin was no longer a worry of his, the majority of his life had required frugality and circumspection.

[Aegis]

Merry leaned forward upon her arms, cradling the wine gently in her fingers. Wistfully, "I would like to have heard that..." She smiled, closing her eyes, head lolling about upon her chin digging into her arm. A deep intake through her nose and then she rolled her face onto her cheek, opening her eyes once more. "My newborn was rather shrill and couldn't hold a note to save his life."

Rory snorted a laugh into his wine.

Merry was grinning wide now, slinking into an upright lounging against the back of her chair. She pulled a long drag on her wine and gave Rory a sultry look. He sighed, reaching into his coat, pulling out a cigarette and handing it to her. She popped it between her lips, whistled a sharp note, and the end started to glow as the ember took hold. "I don't know why, but your sloppy hand rolled smokes always taste the best."

Rory grumbled playfully, "Because they're free.."

Merry's smile broke wide once more, somehow still holding the cigarette without her lips being together. "Well, I won't keep you in the dark, Finn. I've come here for you." She nodded at Rory, "Don't mind him, he's here for me."

Rory snirked and Merry continued. "You see, I come from the west, seeking out the rarest of instruments and songs and sounds. A collector of sorts."

"Some have said she's got quite the ear for trouble."

"And I came to listen to you play that lovely, reborn instrument of yours. And if you'll allow me the honor, perhaps we might play together as well." Her eyes were on him, her admiration and curiosity evident upon her face, as Rory summoned over the server to top him off. "There's a cozy tavern down the way, open once a week, tonight, with an open stage." She looked over at Rory, "What's it called?"

"The Rusty Trombone."

She nodded at Rory with a quick smirk, then eyes back on Finn, she gestured with her drink, "After all, one of Syren's Bards probably shouldn't stay in this land so long." She sipped at her wine, "Or I might end up meeting some of your friends."