30th of Ash, 120 AS
Outside, the seasons were changing, the weather churning from summer to winter. Inside, the cheerful fire in the fireplace kept the room comfortably warm while a few open windows strategically let air in and out, the occasional breeze making candles flicker while sturdier lanterns gave off a steadier light. Umami scents of tobacco and mushroom wafted through the room from fresh-lit pipes and memories of supper drifting from the kitchen, jots of brandy warming bellies along with the cold ales and wines blossoming their bouquets under reddening noses.
The night wasn't exceptionally busy, though several regulars were gathered in knots around the place, speaking of mundane matters, the creaks of their boots and the taps of their tankards and tin cups syncopating with the song stylings of the would-be bard lazily improvising on a theme in a corner of the room.
If there was a lack of custom, it certainly wasn't his fault. The music singing from his strings was pleasant enough, a perfect counterpoint to the low-key, familiar feeling of the patrons. Finn wouldn't be making a great deal of coin that evening, but at least his fingers wouldn't lose their edge for lack of daily practice. His belly was full. His body was warm. If his boots needed resoling, well, he was fairly certain he could see the cobbler before it got truly cold.
The major key shifted to minor in a way that felt inevitable. Snatches of lyrics flowed in and out of focus but he focused on the music itself before he could truly understand what the song was about in order to match the word to note. Sometimes it worked the other way around; he would wake up with words on his tongue and struggle to write them down fast enough, only to reorder them, second-guess them, fret and focus until the structure was just right and then the music was evident in the cadence of each phrase.
Humming harmonies, he didn't know how much time had passed. There was a new face or two, and a few more gone that had been there earlier. He supposed he could have caught their attention, drawn their conversations to a close, demanded a more engaged audience, but that wasn't what the proprietor paid him for. No, he was basically there to keep the mood conducive to the sale of spirits, vintages, and brews. He was competent. He had a good reputation as far as such things went.
Oh, that modulation... yes.
His gaze crossed the room to take in the proprietor's mood. There was a subtle shift in his music as it echoed the Overture within, a subtle shift as his sense of self opened to that which was without. The man didn't look jolly, but he didn't look terribly upset either. But it was easier to know once he found the correct tone to match with the other man's.
Finn had come far quickly with his magical windfall, but his mysterious teacher warned that his musical affinity could become a crutch was easily as it was an aid in understanding what he was doing. It was difficult to truly believe that, though. Music was everything and magic was just a means to an end.
