play me a song [Finn]

[Talon]

27th of Ash, 120 Age of Steel

“You are hovering, Rien.” Talon spoke to his brother as he took a bite of the hearty steak that was steaming on his plate. He glanced up as he chewed, the meat practically melting in his mouth having been cooked excellently with the flourish expected from High Hopes. Rien frowned.

“I am not.” Talon quirked a brow as he speared a vegetable with his fork and took a bite. His younger brother fidgeted before clearing his throat. An annoyed look crossed his younger brother’s face as he realized he’d been caught doing something he did not want to be seen doing. Rien was a compassionate man who strove to understand the people around him as well as their needs. He prided himself on his ability to stand up for what he believed in and also to protect what he considered his haven from the troubles of the world. That pride had been wounded not too long ago. The sanctity of the High Hopes tavern had been tarnished following an attack within its very walls, an attack on Talon no less. One that, by all rights, the Novalys heir was still recovering from though he did his best to not let it affect him. So Talon stared at his brother fondly.

“Alright. Can you blame me, brother? You have a bad habit of always being the center of the worst attention.” Talon laughed as he picked up a glass of wine and sipped it.

“You are right there. It seems trouble has made a point to follow me more often. I cannot help but wonder if I have angered the gods.” He shook his head and eased back into his seat as he looked out over the room. It was not overly crowded that night but there were enough people in the common room to consider it busy. Staff members of the tavern were visiting tables, speaking and gossiping or just lingering near the bar. It was a calmer night than most with the temperatures dropping, heralding the coming of the frigid northern winters. Although, Talon could not blame his brother for his caution. Things continued to border on the uneasy and unsettling in Kalzasi. It was a trend that weighed heavily not just on his mind, but on the minds of their father and their mother.

The last winter had been terrible. This fall was proving to have its own troubles. There were whispers ever increasing of the struggles that the city was beginning to face. Winds of ill-omen, and events that simply made dismissing events as a normalcy of the dangers of living near the Warrens, impossible.

“Where is Aoren?” Talon nodded to one of the nearby tables where his bodyguard and companion was playing a game of cards that, from the looks of it, he was not faring so well in. Rien’s gaze lingered on their mutual friend which prompted the raven winged Avialae to glance over at them. Talon smiled and resumed eating.

“I will be fine, brother. The patrols of the Sky Guard have increased quite a bit.” He spoke calmly then took a bite of potatoes. The guard patrols were increased because of an ongoing investigation into events in the Low-City. But he refrained from commenting on that. He even glanced over at some of the hired hands, noting that there were a few faces he did not recognize.

“Forgive me, brother, if I do not have much faith in your powers of premonition.” The two of them shared a laugh before an outburst of anger at the nearby gambling table prompted both Avialae to glance over. One of the players was grinning widely while another was shouting curses.

“Looks like it is going to be a fun night.” Talon commented idly as he cut another slice of meat and ate it thoughtfully as he observed the exchange.

[Finn]

Things were going well until they weren't.

Finn was always scouting possible venues to ply his trade, especially those with a more sterling reputation than those in the Low-City where his name and his voice were better known. Perhaps he was too sincere, not cutthroat enough to market himself like some of his slicker colleagues. It wasn't that his tongue couldn't be silver; perhaps it was just reality. Being upwardly mobile wasn't easy these days.

All he could do was his best and hope he caught Syren's attention as well as that of his audiences. But tonight, it seemed Vhexur, at least, was on his side. He had come with his lute, of course, because he carried it everywhere with him. One never knew when music might be needed. But casing the joint had turned into this—a few folks with enough spirit in their guts that they cared less about his home address than his availability pulled him into their game of cards. He made—if not friends—acquaintances who seemed to appreciate his wit and his ability to win and lose in equal measure. He knew the game, though he wasn't much of a card shark. It wasn't wise to gamble when one didn't have a nest egg. But they bought rounds and rounds of drinks after he bought the one, considering it an investment in his career. In the mess of tankards and cups, he was far less inebriated than them, but he was just impaired enough that when his winning streak started, it was pure exhilaration and he didn't have the sense to throw a game or two.

There was at least one sore loser among the lot, which became evident when several of them went all in. When their hands were displayed at last, Finn blinked.

"I have won."

Bemused, his grin persisted until he realized that one fairweather friend was on his feet, ale sloshed across the table, red of face and blustery of a blue streak of cursing. Finn's grin disappeared. He blinked again, trying to reassess the situation, trying to figure out how to de-escalate what could go decidedly poorly for him. Everyone in this room could buy and sell people like him.

Vhexur had been with him, but not Zedros.

"I..."

"Cheater!" the man accused. A woman at the table put her hand on his wrist, murmuring that it was just a game, but he brusquely shoved her hand away.

Was it cowardice that made Finn freeze or just a survival instinct? He laid his hands flat on the table, glad they weren't visibly shaking.

"Why don't we just split the pot?" he suggested mildly.

[Talon]

Talon quirked a brow even further. He stirred his aether into motion. It came slowly and he was forced to focus just a tad more than usual in order to pull his aetheric vision to the forefront. Among the group of gamblers at the table, there were several who were anxious. The orange dots of anxiety flared in some of their auras before Talon got a whiff of the bitter stench of outrage. His grey eyes turned to observe the man who was slightly redder in the face than was truly necessary. Immediately, Talon recognized him. A minor nobleman who frequented High Hopes, often to enjoy the gambling that took place when the fighter’s ring was set up for audiences. The man was a vassal of House Senue and that immediately made Talon’s regard for the man plummet even further. House Senue was not very particular about its vassals and often welcomed into their fold those who could benefit them the most at the expense of those who got in their path along the way.

“Split the pot!? I should have your hide! You’re a cheater! Your lot always are!” The red faced man, Lord Haleth Aldor, if memory served him that night, pointed an accusing finger at the poor man across from him. Talon glanced at the accused. The touch of fear glazed the edges of his aura and uneasiness slithered through Talon’s senses like an unpleasant oil. While Talon could not discern whether there was any merit to the nobleman’s accusation, what he could sense was genuine fear from the man being accused. Talon blinked, dismissing the powers of the Rune of Semblance. He winced as a sharp pang went through his skull. He saw his companion’s head turn in his direction but he waved off the concern. Pinching the bridge of his nose he breathed, waiting for the throbbing to subside.

“I should probably save the poor man.” Rien was staring at the nobleman with open distaste. Talon touched a hand to his brother’s shoulder.

“Go. You have other guests to see to. Leave this to me.” His brother gave him a look for a moment before Talon lightly shoved him with a smirk. “Go. We truly are in trouble if I cannot handle one drunk sore loser.”

That brought a smile to his brother’s face. Rien nodded and moved to see to other patrons of the establishment. Talon brought his wine glass up to his lips. The shouting had escalated and the nobleman was decidedly more aggressive. He decided he should intervene before things got more confrontational than they already were.

“Lord Haleth.” Talon’s voice carried over the shouting. The nobleman froze. “If it is a fight you wish, the fighter’s ring can be put in place for you.”

“I am merely teaching a whelp a lesson in honesty, my lord.” There was a bit of a slur to the man’s words and Talon could almost smell the alcohol on his breath from where he sat. He stared at the nobleman for a beat of silence.

“And you know of honesty, Lord Haleth?” Talon quirked his head at the man. His open implication was very clear. The man reddened more. He opened his mouth to speak but Talon held up a hand. “You know our ways, noble Kozoku. If it is to be a fight, here in these halls, it will take place in the ring. Honor our customs or leave your accusations for a Judge to decide.”

Talon folded one arm across his torso. He stretched out his legs, crossing his boots at the ankle. Behind him, his wings stretched slightly then relaxed. He swirled the wine in his glass as he observed Lord Haleth impassively, awaiting what he would do.

[Finn]

It occurred to Finn that were he not tipsy, were he better versed in the bequest of his dear, deceased grandmother, he might have been able to hear the man's symphony and tune it toward something lighter, but the fact of the matter was—he was tipsy and his whit of magic was something he practiced carefully and quietly, not wanting to be forced to live as his grandmother had. No, the Rune of the Mesmer didn't flare into life today.

Instead, he cut a glance at the Skyborn lord calling Haleth out. He felt dread settle deep in his stomach like a stone. He knew how these things went. If a kid didn't stand up to bullies themselves, the bullying continued. If someone stepped in, the bully often found a safer way to enact their malice. While he thought he could take this Haleth in a fight, especially given their respective levels of besottedness, the man would always be more powerful and could easily make his life in the city a hellscape. He couldn't afford to hire a solicitor to plead his case before a judge; at least, no solicitor who wouldn't be outmatched by what the lord could afford.

He hated this feeling of powerlessness. He hated feeling like obsequy was his only viable option. But money and influence were the powers that afforded a man options. There had to be a way out of this without bruising the man's ego. The Skyborn seemed to know where the chinks in his armor were, but Finn could see him bristling, and knew that if the Avialae were unassailable, he himself was not.

"I didn't cheat, my lord," he averred, both for Haleth and his would-be savior, "but 'tis an honest misunderstanding. Take the money, please, and be satisfied."

It seemed unlikely he would ever be able to play here. It was probably the wisest course to simply cut his losses.

"Thank you, my lord," he said, this time to the winged giant as he slowly stood up, picking up his lute and slinging it over his shoulder and around to his back. He would just beat a hasty retreat, leave his 'betters' to their better surroundings. He would just focus on more modest steps up the ladder of venues.

[Talon]

Talon could not stop the man from handing over his winnings. The choice was his own when all was said and done. He merely narrowed his eyes slightly. Lord Haleth did not gainsay the poor man but he did glance at Talon with a sniff even as he scooped up the pot of money and began storming his way away from the table. Talon’s gaze followed the nobleman for a moment before returning to the real victim in this situation. He stirred his aether into motion, working through the slow drag as it was hesitant to abide by his direction. The after effects of the attack on his life were something he still felt. It was lessening with each passing day but he suspected he would suffer the rippling effects for a little while longer.

Attuning to the man’s aura, Talon saw a mixture of things. The tingling sensation of urgency mixed with a general sense of weariness tinged with defeat. He rubbed a thumb over the rim of his wine glass as he considered what to do in this situation. Lord Haleth was a problem for another day. The man was as unpleasant as his reputation but House Aldor was not without its resources or its usefulness, that much was certain. House Senue would not welcome people who were useless into its fold. They were far too hungry for useful people to tip the scales of power in their favor to allow for that. Talon wondered just what a man like Haleth did to remain so in their eyes given his penchant for the drink and gambling. He had a distinct feeling it was something unscrupulous, to say the least.

“Wait.” He called out to the man as he was thanked. His grey eyes lingered on the lute that was now slung across the man’s back. “You are a minstrel? Come. Play me a song.”

Reaching into one of the pockets on his outer jacket, Talon grabbed a single gold aven. He tossed the coin to the minstrel then gestured to the space in front of him.

“There is more.” Talon’s eyes softened as he regarded the man. “For your time and the pleasant company, if you are amenable to the notion.”

If there was one thing that Talon despised, it was the idea of not helping one of his people when he was provided the opportunity to do so. The man was a human but all residents of Kalzasi were considered his people. He would never deny that there was a stark divide between the classes in the city-state and its territories. Wealth was in abundance in his homeland and while he had no power to decide where the money of the city’s coffers went, in a direct sense, he could push for it to be used where it was most needed. Talon had wealth to his name. He had more than enough. It was nothing to him to share that wealth if it meant sparing a man from hunger and a night of discomfort. As he took a closer look at the minstrel, it was clear to him that this man was not someone who frequented the Commons. Judging by his attire alone, Talon suspected he was a resident of the Low-City.

[Finn]

A hand snatched the gold coin out of the air like a striking snake. Gods and Mistlords help him, but his people couldn't afford not to be so quick when coin was involved. He felt a faint flush of something like shame; he reacted without thought to snatch up a windfall; the Skyborn could spend gold on a song without thought. But the man meant well. Perhaps he was indeed a noble man among the nobility. And if the coin wasn't quite what he had lost to keep the peace, it was some salve for the smart. He smiled ruefully and shoved the payment into his belt pouch.

"Thank you, my lord," he said, touching his brow and bowing respectfully. He spoke the winged one's own tongue fluently, having studied it as a youth when he had received some formal training with his instrument and his voice. It seemed right and proper to set his patron pro tempore at ease. "What sort of song?"

Finn stood where he was, not sure whether to join the nobleman at his table or stand there as he was. This place was truly out of his league for the time being. Flexing his fingers, he realized that they were cramped from making nervous fists just moments before. Unslinging his lute, he limbered them with a quick chord progression that also let him know which string needed a bit of tightening to remain in proper tune.

Then he took a few steps toward the Avialae. If he didn't quite know how best to present himself here, the man didn't seem the type to require bowing and scraping. It was Finn's understanding that the people who did were generally the sort of person to view with suspicion rather than respect. The Avialae led the people, protected the people; he was grateful for those things, but he didn't think that ought to make him a slave. And yet there were people like Harleth who were liberal enough to drink with a minstrel, play cards with a minstrel, but as soon as the minstrel got presumptuous, winning where he ought to feel obliging, well, things fell apart.

He didn't know how Harleth would feel if they met again, whether he would harbor a grudge or even remember the incident as he had been deep in his cups, but for the moment, Finn was starting to feel somewhat safer, somewhat more at ease. Perhaps that was a benefit to having the Skyborn in power. While he knew many of the historical accounts of their provenance, it was difficult not to see them as something greater than human. How they used that power, though, mattered.

[Talon]

Nimble fingers danced over the strings of the lute after so deftly snatching the coin from the air. Talon blinked upon hearing Synskrit spoken so fluently from the mouth of a human. It brought an appreciative nod from him. He considered the human’s question. What sort of song? What manner of tale was he in the mood for? Talon considered events that had transpired as of late. He considered his current mood and how he was feeling.

“Something peaceful. Something that soothes the troubled mind.” That seemed appropriate. For the past year, Talon had found himself flying headlong into one frightening situation after another. The events of the last winter still haunted him. The wraiths that had plagued he streets of the city, the battle with the archwraith that nearly killed him and had caused so much pain, and of course his journey abroad that had nearly separated him from his companion. That had been one of the more angering and frightening experiences of his life. Coincide those things with the turmoil that was ever rising amid the noble houses and the strange occurrences that had been transpiring all season, Talon wanted something to soothe not merely the aches in his body but those weighing on his mind as well.

Across his bond he could feel his companion offering the soothing touch of his support. Talon accepted it quietly. He welcomed the warmth and comfort it brought, especially after what had been transpiring in his personal life as of late. Those were thoughts for another time however. Talon picked up the pitcher of wine and poured a cup for the minstrel. He pushed it toward the man, a clear gesture of invitation to join him at the table if he so chose. The seating was higher off the ground, as was to be expected for an Avialae, with a thin back for support to allow for Talon to spread his wings unhindered. As the minstrel prepped himself, Talon reached up to rub at his shoulder. Though the wound was healed, tended to by both physicians and even a necromancer, he could still feel its sting. The pain was something that stuck with him.

It had been jarring. What was more, it had been horrifying to witness the brutal transformation of a person into a ghoulish monstrosity. He had to wonder what drove people to such lengths. Was it desperation or was it hatred? Shaking his head, he roused himself from those thoughts to stare at the minstrel.

“What is your name, Sir? I cannot very well continue to call you “minstrel” in my head.” He offered a smile before closing his eyes.Talon craned his neck and let out a long exhalation. He furrowed his brow slightly as the soreness and tenderness in his shoulder demanded he massage it more. He paused only briefly when he felt a hand gently push his own aside. Without even having to open his eyes, he knew that his companion had both seen and felt his pain and was trying to soothe it. Talon let him. Physical touch was nothing something he received often and for the moment, he was feeling strangely melancholy. He let his eyes remain closed even as the music began to play, listening to the minstrel’s song.

[Finn]

As yet unaware how august a presence he was in, he took the unspoken cue and approached the Skyborns' table. He touched his brow and nodded to the other man, not wanting to annoy them with more bows and such. They weren't standing too much on formality, so he tried to take that cue as well. Taking a sip of wine to wet his throat, he blinked for a moment. It was perhaps the finest he had ever tasted. All the same, he set it down and endeavored to portray himself as having a modicum of aplomb.

"No sir I," he assured him, "but certainly a minstrel. Perhaps someday a bard, Gods willing. Finn's the name. Short, sometimes sweet." His smile was self-deprecating for all that his words could have sounded gimmicky otherwise. He teased at a performance persona, but he couldn't be anyone other than himself, he'd found.

While not a winged giant, he wasn't short as humans went, and he managed to make a comfortable seat for himself on furniture not made for him. His fingers had been softly grazing upon the strings of his instrument, a sturdy, serviceable thing, as his mind sought something soothing to play.

"This one isn't finished, my lord," he said, still in the avian tongue. "Doesn't have words yet and I think it needs another voice to round it out, but..."

First, he began to pick out a simple, sweet melody in the upper register. Then, he layered on his own voice, a clear tenor with open vowels. And then he added a counterpoint on the lower strings. If one closed one's eyes and listened, it was certainly reaching toward something sublime. If one watched, they would see how quickly his hands had to move to play two lines as well as snippets of a third harmonizing with his voice when humanly possible. A skilled musician would see that the song he was after would indeed require another voice and, at least, another instrument to come to full fruition. But that was Finn—reaching beyond his station.

The high line dropped out first, wandering away. Briefly, the counterpoint expanded into chords before departing as well, leaving the last of the song in the man's voice. It was a good voice, though time and training would help it reach its full potential.

If there was a moment of lingering peace in the end, Finn ruined it. Realizing he had gotten a little too into things, he took another nervous sip of wine, not remembering he ought to savor it.

"Just a humble lullaby yet, my lord." It sounded like an apology.

► Show Spoiler

[Talon]

When the first few notes of the melody were played, Talon knew then that it was music perfectly suited to soothe his troubled thoughts. Combined with the strong but gentle fingers of Aoren’s touch upon his shoulder, his neck muscles and the back of his skull, he felt tension bleed out of him for the first time in what felt like weeks. It was only with the company of an ambitious minstrel, his trusted bodyguard and companion, and in the setting of the High Hopes tavern that Talon felt like he could let a sliver of his guard down. The attack had been terrible. It was something that would stay with him. It had wounded him in both body and soul, sparking him to question many of the things he once believed to be absolutely certain about his homeland as days had gone by. But High Hopes was still a haven. It was still a place where he felt he could let go, at least in part, some of the weight on his shoulders and simply be himself. It was one of the few places he felt he could do that.

As the melody came to a close, Talon opened his eyes to study Finn for a moment. He didn’t need the powers of semblance to notice that the man was nervous. Sitting up straighter, he reached up, touching a hand to Aoren’s and squeezing it in silent thanks. His bodyguard and friend stepped away, returning to the table not far off rejoining the friends he’d made for the night. Talon stretched his wings just wide enough to shift the muscles of his back and roll his shoulders. The silver feathers caught the firelight, reflecting the warm glow softly.

“Finn.” He said the minstrel’s name as though he were tasting it. With a nod of his head, Talon reached into his pocket and withdrew more coin. He passed it to the human, raising his glass in salute to the man’s skill.

“Well met, Finn. I imagine, if you continue to hone your skills you will be a fine bard in the days ahead. Have you considered seeking attendance at the Academy?” The Academy of Kalzasi was a respectable institution. The College of the Arts was one of the more heavily attended areas in the institute. As focused as the Avialae were on notions of martial prowess, they were a culture of warrior-scholars due to the influence of the Temple of the Fallen Skies.

“If you have not, perhaps you should. They offer patrons to those who might not be able to afford their costs. I am certain that if you approached House Zatrian and displayed your talents, you would be well received.” He took a sip of his wine, letting the taste linger on his tongue for a few moments before something occurred to him.

“Ah. Yes. Where are my manners? I should introduce myself.” Touching the tips of his fingers to his forehead and then making a sweeping gesture in greeting, the dark haired Avialae bowed his head.

“Talon Alexios Novalys.” He smiled at Finn. “I have the great misfortune of being the elder brother of this establishment’s owner.”

“I heard that!” Rien called from a table not far away. Talon smiled at his younger brother.

“You are welcome to sit with me. As I said, there is coin for both your songs and company if you are amenable to it. It is the least I can do.” His eyes glanced over to the table where the odious nobleman had been previously.

[Finn]

The lutenist's eyes widened at the coin. A part of him was flattered that the man thought his work worthy of such; a part of him was too proud and worried he was offering it out of pity; a part of him was so weary of worrying about the next week's rent after a slow period that he couldn't give up this much coin twice in one night. He bit back his protest and just let the lord do what he would with his coin. Raising his glass, in turn, he thanked him politely and drank with him. He didn't know what it meant that the lord's companion had been sent away. Perhaps Zedros was watching out for him after all, albeit with mysterious was as the Gods seemed to have.

The way the light played across the silver feathers like a patina was almost entrancing. He supposed he could write a heartfelt ode to that. Best not to stare, though.

"Ah, no," he said. "It was a dream in younger years, but I think I am too old now for schooling. When I moved to the city, it was necessary to work. But if my lord thinks it wise, I might knock on House Zatrian's door..." That would take a shot of liquid courage, to be sure.

When the Avialae introduced himself, Finn almost spit out his wine. The crown prince made a jest at the other prince's expense and Finn tried not to choke on both wine and the fact that he was in the presence of royalty.

"Lord Harleth was my own fault, your Highness," he said—later, he might be pleased that he managed to babble in Synskrit, at least. "I should have cut and run before I won too much for his liking, but the wine and I suppose I was greedy. Should I bow?" He paused for barely a beat. "I should bow. I apologize, I didn't recognize your Highness and I should have..."

It wasn't a secret that the establishment was owned by a prince and now the occasional movement like his body ached made sense given the attack on the crown prince here in this very place within the season. Hadn't he overheard Master Rickter and his lady friends discussing it weeks ago?