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chipper-smol · 4 years ago

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Hollow Knight Telephone Round Two: Pale Jester Chain 1

Prompt: PJ finds himself alone with the Grimmchild after the bug who finished the ritual abandons the Grimmchild charm

By @alaska-ren-works

“Oh, the red casts great and terrifying spells Ones which no one knows The drums go bang and the bats ignite ‘Lo and behold a toad!”

The Pale Jester hummed to the beat of his steps, the atmosphere of King’s Pass having a little color now, PJ thinks. Little taps from crawlids and squawks of vengeflies adding a little harmony to his cheery bells. Ah, to have an orchestra of his own to play and dance to. Never the mind, there’s always his friends he could sneak away with. He’s sure Brumm wouldn’t mind if he borrowed him and his accordian. Brumm was always a lovely companion with his somber mood. Hm, now if only he could remember where he left his lute he’d be on his way to play with the troupe.

The jester paused when mued noise echoed from a tunnel above. Shrugging, his bells jingled as he scaled the stone up and up while wondering what this little mystery was. A statue of a great bug with red eyes a-plenty loomed from the jester's place on the edge, guarding over a single opened chest. The noise echoed from its hollow depths.

A grub? It must be. Unless something else can make such high-pitched sounds.

The jester jingled quietly to the chest, preparing a little song to cheer the poor sap out. Who would leave a child in a desolate place such as this?

He'd have a word with the young one's parents. A strongly worded one at that. If he had a child, he would never abandon them when they needed him most.

Indeed. You have done far, far worse. Strange. Is the wind howling voices? What a peculiar land this is.

The sound whimpered louder and at this the jester froze. It couldn't be. No, of course not. Master had made sure the bug was to be trusted. They would never... They would never do such a thing...!

He hurried and his claws dug into the chest's metal. His heart stopped when he saw what, or who, was inside. The black gleaming horns. The scarlet flame stuttering under glassy eyes.

No.

"Grimmchild?"

A stuttered whimper his only reply.

How dare that excuse of a life betray our child.

Grimmchild did not respond when the jester picked them up, cradling them in his puy-sleeved arms. Dark red stained their cheeks. Dark, sorrowful red.

"Child," he gently cooed, frowning when they hardly moved their head. "How long were you left here?"

No reply. What have they done to you?

“Let’s go home, little one. I am certain you are tired after your long adventure,” he sang with restrained tones, his fury marbled with his grief for this little one. "I have a few tricks I want to show you! Made them perfect while Brumm learned how to juggle. He's not the most dexterous of us all but perhaps one day he can handle flaming darts! What fun that would be!"

No reply.

The Jester trembled with every rocking of his arms for the child. He remembered how the child laughed and beamed when the bug took them to gather the scarlet flames. The child sang with such glee at the bug's performance with the master. The child grew more brilliant with every step this bug took with them down to the kingdom's last flame.

Come to think of it, he had not seen the bug once the heart was defeated. ... No.

"O, child," the jester piped. Taking one step, a stalactite fell from above. His hand moved on its own and in moments, the rock turned to powder under his clenched fist. The child merely curled in his arms, eyes dimming to a close. "Child, you need rest! Once you wake, you'll be in such a lovelier place with the most delightful of games to play with!"

That... fiend... left the child when the ritual was over? Like a mere toy to be buried once play time ends?

That abomination will pay. For every tear this child shed.

Every. Damned. One.

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By @lametinkerer

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By The Grimm Chronicler

At first, it was easily muffled by all the noise outside. Then he heard it. A thud, a sudden cry of desperation.

Investigating at the source, there he found it, hidden away within a small chest. A child. A weeping, frightened child, clinging to his robes so tight and desperately as though the mere mention of legging go could mean that they would return to the chest and be trapped once again.   "Oh, child..." The Jester whispers. "Who could do something like this to you? How long have you been there?" Questioned the Jester, though he knew he'd receive naught but silence. Embracing them as gently as possible, he rocked them evenly back and forth until they stilled, having given in to slumber.

His investigation has proven itself to be quite uncomplicated. Within no time, he found out about the child's former guardian and how they were so utterly left aside to simply rot away in the confines of an ornate chest in a secluded area. The mere thought brought forth despicable, hideous emotions he never thought himself capable of experiencing.

Anger. Pure, unbridled anger.

He swore that he'd find the one responsible for this sick malevolence and bring them to justice. Mayhaps even the Master would offer his aid. It mattered little whether he did so or not, the Jester sought naught but to seek out the evil being and he would do so relentlessly. He promised that. As he held the child in his hands, their crimson eyes staring innocently at the funny man with a strange makeup and even stranger outfit and pointy prongs on his head, they giggled at the sight. "That abomination shall pay for every. Single. Tear you ever shed. I shall see to it. They will not go unpunished for such atrocity."

The Jester brought them closer to him, closing his eyes. They giggled at the contact, embracing him back.

"I promise you."

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By @lagt-duck

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By @al-the-frog

the unexpected isn’t always desirable

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By @largeegg

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By @wasabi-arts

The audience departed, the stage left empty, not a sound. Usually Brumm’s pleasant tune filled the halls draped in red with faint echoes of the notes, but tonight remained silent. It wasn’t often the bug was left with the distinct lack of noise, with no joke to entertain himself or company to keep. All that greeted him was the faint whispers of an audience no more, the spirits that haunted the troupe.

And to think at first you loathed him- a creature created by the king of all nightmares after humiliating your very existence as the king’s little fool. However. . now? You feel pity for him while you watch the jester in red with his head in his hand, sitting on the edge of the stage. He’s weighed by a misery he can’t understand, memories he’ll never recall, all in a world through the holes of a stice striped mask. The stamp of the Grimm Troupe.

On the stage, the jester just stared at something in one of his hands, round and white. Normally, it's something you’d dismiss- perhaps a relic spawning a curiosity that would be short lived- but the curled carving, the white charm shape- it was unmistakable. Something that he and his wife had once shared, then split in two- was suddenly regained.

Several emotions filled your mind as you, in your ghostly shadow of self that remained trapped in the nightmare realm bound by a red string, inched closer to your physical counterpart. The kingsoul. Last you remembered- no, last you knew you held it on your cold dead corpse in the palace long since gone, hidden within a lingering dream. The other half was to your wife, if she even still considered you as much after everything you had done.

Tears ran down his face while he laughed, unaware of the peeking figure standing by the entrance- Grimm, though not the one bound by nightmares. Though the cloaked one’s look of pained sympathy wasn’t where your interest lay.

“Ah. . . .h . a . . ha h.” He laughed through tears, some falling on the kingsoul he held in his hand. “Isn’t this hilarious- laughing over a rock!”

He cringes at calling it such a thing as you do, staring with a mix of disgust and sadness, watching the red flame’s reflection flicker in the charm. The broken crown even seemed to sag even more, a dinky replica of what you yourself once were.

“Did-” A pause from the fool sitting on the edge of the stage- his stage that was built for him in this troupe of misfits. “Did she give this to me to make me cry? Hah-ha! M-Maybe it has a crying effect.”

Your annoyance and anger switched into a deep sadness, watching your counterpart laugh through tears, tears of which he knew not where the source was.

“That’s not what that is-” You say to no one, letting out a sigh as you turn away, responding to a world that wouldn’t hear you regardless. “You won’t know, and I doubt anyone would tell.”

The jester and the peeking Grimm didn't respond, as you expected. Though, finally your counterpart peeked up, catching the taller, monstrous bug in a spare glance. In an instant he hopped up on his feet, charm in hand, greeting the master of the troupe with four open arms- the charm in one.

“H-Hello hello!” He cheered, voice cracking through his tears, the unfamiliar sense of deja-vu crippling his very being. He bowed. “Why, my performance as long since ended, but if my master himself wants another show- then I shall prepare for one-!”

“That is not needed, dear Jester.” Grimm said simply, waving a hand to pause the jester’s actions, finally deciding to enter the room. “While I do enjoy a good show- I didn’t wish to disturb your thought.”

“Thought. . ?” The jester questioned, stature changing from fun to a distinct slouch. You huff- and he looks in your direction, though he doesn’t see you. You’re merely a shadow haunting this jester’s mind. Soon enough his focus drifted back to the round object in his hand. “Ah.”

“Are you feeling alright-”

“Splendid! I am doing fantastically, Master!” He exclaimed as you scowled. Master- what a disgraceful word for a wyrm to call such a makeshift god. Though he’s not a wyrm, nor are you. Not anymore. “I have just been given a cute little charm by a fair lady deep within the gardens. Well- half of it! The beauty said I had the other half, haha!”

Grimm cocks his head, in worry and curiosity, making you wish your counterpart- the one born for the stage and as a mockery of yourself- wasn’t nearly as tone-deaf.

“Hm, you had the other half, she said?” Grimm asked, moving closer to the jester.

“Why, yes! And you’ll never believe where I found it- in some dark little place deep below. How odd!” Grimm let out a ‘hrm’ in response as he spoke. “Found it on a corpse of all things- a hollow shell of armour! Don’t you find it curious, Master?”

“Hmm- that is quite odd. What do you plan to do with it?”

You watch the jester flinch in a rather odd fashion at the question.

“Well- I don’t know. Perhaps I’ll hang it on to it- or perhaps I’ll wear the darling little thing! Maybe it will help me cry on command, wouldn’t that be hilarious?” Silence. A long, agonizing silence greeted both for a moment, the red flame glittering in the dark room. All these tents had for light were shades upon shades of red- you quite hated the color.

“I suppose it is.” Grimm said, extending out a hand. Long, bony, black. He seemed to lack a lot of the segmentation that typical bugs had. “Why don’t you allow me to hold on to that until you decide what to do with it? We certainly don’t need such a thing getting sawed in half during one of your splendid performances!”

“Why- of course, Master! If you would like it- who am I to refuse such a request!” He hummed back, reaching out to give it to the taller bug. The action disgusted you. Giving away such a precious charm that was your’s and no one else’s, let alone to that made your blood boil.

“Are you going to let go?”

You turn, finding that the jester hadn’t let away his grip of the carved white stone. In fact- it was almost like he couldn’t.

“I--I apologize, Master. I feel like. . . I don’t want to let it go? That’s not very funny, though! Ha-ha! I-”

“Then you can keep it.” he said, the slight smile of his pointed teeth not hidden under his collar for once. “It is yours- so you will do with it what you wish.” The Pale Jester turned his gaze from Grimm to the charm once more, turning it in his hands once. Twice. “However, let’s not focus on that- you have a grand show tomorrow, and I would love to view it from the audience this time around.” He turned to leave with a bow. “I expect an even grander performance than before! ANd I am greatly looking forward, my dear Jester. Have a pleasant night.”

“Goodnight, Master.”

And with Grimm gone, you look back on your counterpart, giving a joyful wave with a solemn, sad expression on his face. The charm lay loosely in his hand. And for once, you wonder what he was thinking in that separated mind of his as he left the stage.

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By @ded-lime

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By @vivifrage

The wyrm was in tears.

In times like these, it was even harder to remember that the broken, warped Jester dancing around the Troupe’s grounds used to be these lands’ god-king. Cold. Stoic. Unfeeling, many claimed. Ruled by and ruling over pure logic and calculation.

Easily enough disproved with sufficiently annoying input; Grimm’s own memories trotted out tales of delighting in that knowledge over and over. The wyrm was a stick in the mud, a hardass, arrogant and prim and so fun to bother until he was literally incandescent with anger he’d deny up and down and up again.

Yet here the wyrm stood, muddied white carapace given a pink cast from the tent’s fabric all around, tears still slicking the black tracks in his mask, giving them an obsidian shine. And for the life of him, Grimm couldn’t feel that spark of delight in seeing the pale bastard showing some kind of emotion.

(The Heart certainly could, but its smug pulse felt oh-so-alien versus this dismal thing dampening all the rest of his core more thoroughly than any rain could soak an eternally-burning god.)

He couldn’t quite bring himself to a smile, even a polite one, when the Jester hopped over, something clutched tight in one hand. He settled for an inquisitive look, a soft tilt of the head, eyes alert and bright, hands raised in greeting.

The Jester waved back, in that brief moment as cheery and oblivious as ever. But the moment passed, and he hesitated, hands sinking back against his sides, the closed fist kept close to his collar.

Whatever he held, he pressed it to the lower third of his mask, be it in hesitance or reverence.

Or both.

Grimm let him take his time.

It was the least he could do, really. For the both of them. The wyrm to find his words, Grimm to settle the dread rising in his throat. That rather particular sort of dread, too, that one that anticipated an ugly, ugly task.

“Master?” the Jester asked at last, “May I tell you a story?”

“Of course,” Grim said. It was not a lie. It felt like it was.

“Well, once upon a time, there was a- a-” He clicked his fingers together. “Something bright, almost shining. Resplendent. White, white as snow or ash or death. A tree! No, a tree’s root. And she had crystals for eyes, but they’ve long clouded.

“And in exchange for a laugh, a smile, and a goodbye, she told the funniest tragedy. One of two lovers who saw in each other the world, and whose deeds drove them apart. She gave me a token of their story, of their love, and told me to do with it as I will.”

He opened his fist.

Cradled in his palm was half a charm. White, a colder color than even pale ore, so white and with such a sheen that it seemed to cast the tent in winter tones, the most direct reflections twinkling like evening stars. All save for a black stripe cutting across the face, through the hole of the eye, dug through the detail in the same way the marks on the Jester’s and Grimm’s own masks featured their otherwise plain faces.

Grimm’s stomach dropped. He clenched his jaw to keep it from hanging open. Deep within his chest, the Heart sang in shock, confusion, and uncertainty.

That was wrong.

That was so, so very wrong. In so, so many ways. In ways the Jester could not know.

His eyes traced the mark from halved forehead to fractured jawline. That should not be there. It never should have been in the Jester’s hands but that should not be there-

The Heart swallowed his burst of flame-hot anger, echoed it back with the roar of a furnace.

Grimm put on a polite face. It just so happened to bare his teeth.

The wyrm continued.

“Personally, what I would like to do is mug the other half of the other lover’s no-good corpse!” He twittered with laughter in a way the dour king never would have. The sound just made his carapace crawl. “Ah, but that would require finding it, and the Ritual has us so busy, Master. It must be a matter for later fools.

But, in the meantime, I don’t- It hurts. Such a story. It’s cliché, is it not? The doomed lovers? I could tell you six like that with my tongue tied, and I’m sure you could tell me twelve right back, and we’d both laugh at how silly they all are, to think their love could ever be enough. Perhaps it’s something about holding this little trinket but-” He closed his fist again, held it to his throat. When he spoke, his voice was choked, and he pressed two hands to his temples, another two covering his mask. “The sight of her stung my eyes and I drank her words as sorrowful wine, and now my tears fall and my tongue bleeds in all the pretty reds-”

“Jester?”

The wyrm stared at the waiting hand Grimm held out between them, eyes slowly rising to meet his. There was a spark in there, shadowed behind those vacant carvings in the mask, something bright and cold staring back at him. He smiled at it, and let the chill sink into his teeth.

“If it upsets you so, may I hold it for a time? For your respite, of course. I seek no undue pain from my people, and perhaps I could look into this local legend myself, so we could discuss it together. Besides, it is quite the curious artifact, and I would love a closer look.” His hand bobbed, palm up and curved into a perfect receptacle for the little broken charm.

(Well, not perfect. Only two beings in the world had ever had hands for that.)

Wordlessly, the Jester handed it over. It clinked into Grimm’s hand, its weight off-balance in a way that itched at his mind. And, for everything he knew it was, it struck him as so mundane. Like there should have been something to it, holding a wyrm and a root’s wedding charm. Even half of it. But rather, the thing felt…

Dead, it felt dead.

Comatose, at best.

(Or worst.)

(He glanced back at the Jester. The spark had faded from his eyes, replaced with mellow-warm embers.)

(The Heart thudded its relief.)

“Thank you,” he said, and stepped back.

The Jester blinked, visible only as the slightest hint of eyelids moving behind the mask. He stared at his empty palm, touched the tracks of his mask and rubbed the lingering wet he found. “Was I upset?”

He stared up at Grimm, searching his face. “What was I upset about?”

Grimm offered only a shrug before he turned away, and left the Jester standing alone.

“Brumm,” he muttered, clasping the other bug’s shoulder as he passed by, “Prepare a fire. I must commune.”

Brumm hummed in that low, doubtful way he always did when he sensed Grimm was up to something he ought not to ask about directly. “Are you sure you can’t rest for it? I’d not blame you a moment’s respite.”

Grimm paused, reached back, took his wrist and squeezed it gently. “I know. But I must be of clear mind for this.”

His thumb rubbed the halved charm, stroking up and down the new line carved into its face. The Jester’s story turned over in his head, biting in like a sliver of carapace caught between the teeth.

The dread grew sour.

This could not go on.

The Jester didn’t come to dinner. An odd happening; his appetite easily rivaled Divine’s, and he knew it had been suppressed. Allegedly for how recognizable a wyrm trait that was. But also, the Troupe only had so much in their stocks.

Still, a Troupe member in poor state was a Troupe member in poor state, and Grimm sought him out.

He wasn’t hard to find, exactly. Easier than it used to be by far. The Jester was loud, extroverted, and flashy. But even in his quiet moments, he had a pull to him.

No matter his background, though, Grimm should not have found him in the first tent he checked, hidden away under the first curtain he got a suspicious feeling from.

The Heart sank, staring at the Jester’s back as he curled up, sobbing into his hands. Something was going horribly, horribly wrong. The Jester was the dancing fool the wyrm had shown himself to be, that was all. If he cried, it was when something got too close, and Grimm had told the Grimmkin to ensure he stayed very clear of anything that could trigger that again.

Grimm sunk to the floor beside him, letting the curtain fall back into place. It brushed his back, the fabric thick and heavy, and absorbed everything but their breaths and the sound of the wyrm’s sobbing.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, with all the fireplace warmth he could muster. His hand ghosted against the Jester’s back, bumping over the rings dangling where wings once laid.

(Going back up, stroking again, this time pressing harder, he swore he felt slight swells where the buds should have been burned out.)

“I don’t know.” Desperation bit through the wyrm’s voice, through all the tears and despondence. He shuddered, sucked in a raspy breath. “I don’t-”

He turned his face away, pressing his knuckles into his eyes. He keened, the low sound of a hurt creature, kept close and intimate by all the fabric they’d hidden in.

Grimm just rubbed his back, and let him find the words.

Perhaps he shouldn’t have. Perhaps he should have taken a more directorial role in this two-bug production, and told the Jester what was going on, what his poor soul ought to be feeling. How he was new to the Troupe, and some of the changes took time to settle in, he would be fine. Most everyone had been upset for at least one Ritual, especially their first, and sometimes it was hard to place those feelings, wasn’t it? It would pass, it would get better, it meant nothing, really. Not in the long run.

And, if his memory ran long, that sometimes stories just struck a chord, but he need not be upset at simple trinkets and tragic stories with doomed lovers. They were all so silly, weren’t they? Thinking that, in the end, their love would matter.

Why, he ought to set all of it out of mind, and come to dinner. Surely he was hungry?

His tongue laid still, his mouth stayed shut.

“I- I miss- I don’t know. Someone? Something? I don’t know. I can’t find them, they’re slipping through my hands every time I reach. But Master-” His voice broke, cracking into a plaintive cry. He clutched at his chest, hands pawing uselessly at the fabric over his heart. “It hurts.”

Grimm clucked his tongue and cooed. His arms wrapped around the Jester, drawing his form, at once limp to his touch and much too tense, close, until he tucked him against his chest. Head held to heart, listening to its steady beat. All four arms wrapped around his abdomen, knees bumping against his thigh, while Grimm held him and drew his wings from their resting place to wrap around them, shielding the Jester even further from the world beyond.

“I’ve got you,” he purred. The side of his jaw brushed against the wyrm’s horns. “I’ll make it better.”

The Jester shifted in his arms, head tilting up til Grimm found himself cradling its back. When he stared down to meet his eyes, he found that spark staring back, cold as ice and with just as sharp an edge. “How?” he asked.

It could have been a coincidence. A slip of the tongue, the familiarity in how he spoke, with a voice like a lone gust of wind trailing through a cavern. The weight to just that one word, the melancholy it steeped in.

Grimm fought the chill clawing at his back to give him a smile. Gently, he rested the wyrm’s head against his chest again, where the Nightmare Heart beat. “A nightmare feels so very real, does it not? As false as it may be?”

(Again, the sickly sweetness of a lie on his tongue.)

The Jester hummed. After a moment, he snuggled close, full body up against Grimm’s, cool against the Troupe Master’s warmth. “I guess.”

“Take your respite, Jester. Let me care for you.” He leaned back as far as he could, letting the Jester’s weight rest on him. “Then we can get dinner, yes? I bet you’re hungry.”

“Oh!” The Jester’s hand curled against his stomach. “Yes, that would be good. But… a moment, first. To catch my breath.”

“Of course.”

Forgetting was the greatest kindness he could offer the Jester, and the cruelest punishment the wyrm deserved. Let his troubles slip his mind. Let him cry and wail for things he didn’t know, acting out grief for the horrors he didn’t know he committed.

But there was not supposed to be such a gouge in the Kingsoul’s face. There was not supposed to be that soul behind his eyes. There were not supposed to be stories of beautiful roots or jokes about horrible wyrms. There were not supposed to be wing buds in the Jester’s back. The side of him that resided within the Nightmare was not supposed to have such a strain in its voice, nor was he supposed to feel the snap of spellwork.

Something was going wrong.

And all he could do was watch and try to stuff the wyrm back into the Jester’s shell.

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By @artisticdragons

#hollowknight #hollow knight #palejesterau #telephoneknight #troupe master grimm #pale king #grimmchild #shadelord #(briefly)

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innocentbi-stander · 5 years ago

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I’ve decided that this is a fantastic idea so I’m going to tell you all about it:

Acrobat jaskier

Jaskier ran away from his home at the age of 11

(he says he ran away but deep down he knew it was only a matter of time before his displeased father kicked him out anyways)

Being 11 years old alone on the road is not the best experience, jaskier grows used to not having enough to eat and being kicked around

One day when in a small run down town in the middle of nowhere, a troupe of performers arrive

Jaskier instantly falls in love, and watches every single performance

He is caught by one of the troupe members when he tries to swipe an errant coin that was thrown their way

The performer who catches him is a lute player named Maria, who’s soft eyes remind Jaskier of his long dead mother

Maria doesn’t turn him in for stealing and jaskier is rather shocked when she invites him to come have dinner with the troupe

It's the most fun he’s ever had, loud chatter and sharing dishes he’s never heard before

Jaskier stays for dinner and then never really leaves, Maria asks him one evening if he’d like to stay with them and he doesn’t even need to think before he says yes

The troupe is full of a wide range of performers, from musicians, to contortionists, jugglers, and knife throwers

Jaskier loves life on the road with his pseudo guardians and he learns how you can have family that isn’t blood related

Of course one doesn’t travel with a troupe of performers without picking up a few things, and far be it from the troupe to leave their youngest member without the skills to protect himself

They teach him how to charm with a smile, how to disguise oneself with the right clothes

Jaskier learns to have a silver tongue, sharp eyes, and how to dip fingers into pockets so lightly, an unsuspecting person won’t even notice you’ve lightened their pockets until they’ve gone back home

Maria teaches him to play the lute, gently guiding his hands and showing him how to tune and strum

Oswald, who also came from noble descent, is relentless is schooling jaksier, insisting that life on the road or not, he should know his maths

The knife throwers teach him how to punch, how to hold a dagger, how to throw it with frightening accuracy, and also how to do a whole mess of showy tricks that have no practical use but look pretty cool

He learns how to cook a meal out of scraps of almost nothing, the values of carrying spices and not being picky

But what jaskier loves the most, maybe even more than the lute, is what he learns from the acrobats

They teach him to train his body to be flexible, to stretch in ways no common human villager can manage (jaskier isn’t really all human but neither are most of the performers)

He learns to flip and twist, and to love ill advised heights, and he’s good, better than anyone was expecting

Jaskier wants to be a musician but he knows he will always love acrobatics

Eventually jaskier leaves the troupe to attend oxenfurt, but never stops writing and meeting up with his family at any turn

When geralt and jaskier began to travel together, the witcher is mystified by the manic skill set of the young bard

On the road jaskier strums his lute and sings, stumbling over small rocks and potholes, clumsy like he is still getting used to the length of his limbs

But when they stop to make camp, he pulls himself up into tree branches with immeasurable grace, and geralt watches wide eyed as he swings and flips with little thought to where his hands and feet will land. It’s like breathing

As the years go by, geralt understands that it's just who jaskier is, full of energy and a thousand odd skills

Sometimes as they travel jaskier will perform endless cartwheels, backbends, walking on his hands

There are daggers strapped to his person, and geralt often sees the bard idly flipping them in intricate moves that make geralt fear for his fingers

Jaskier has demonstrated that the daggers are not in fact just for pretty tricks, as he throws them with deadly accuracy and hands movements as practiced as when he plays the lute

Geralt had asked him once about the origin of his skills, and jaskier had simply waved him off with an errant smile and a “oh it’s just a family thing, I just happened to pick it up”

Jaskier may seem like the average bard with his sunshine-y persona and constant smiles, but geralt learns quickly that jaskier has a temper and an awfully short fuse for those insulting the people he cares about

The amount of town’s they’ve had to vacate because the bard got all fancy and stabby over some run of the mill witcher prejudiced towns people is frankly, ridiculous

Geralt’s a little impressed but he won’t tell jaskier that

So they travel, and fight monsters, and argue with each other, and try and disguise how they feel, and everything is pretty much the same except jaskier can lift his foot over his head with minimal effort and geralt tries his best to keep from drooling too obviously

There’s so much more potential for this but I didn’t want to make this post too long, so what do you think folks? Part 2 worthy?

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ashen-crest · 4 years ago

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The Stray Spirit: The Lost Month Pt 2

Synopsis: Emry’s avoiding something.

Word Count: 593

TW/CW: food mention, pain mention

The Lost Month - Part 2

Emry tried to forget about Aspen’s request the next day. He told himself that walking into town wasn’t running away, necessarily- he was just meeting an old friend for coffee by the canals.

To his dismay, the old friend dredged it up not ten sips into their chat.

“Hey, someone mentioned you might be available to play soon,” Carson said, raising his coffee cup in Emry’s direction. Carson had changed very little in the last three years- same black hair, same tilted grin, same eager cadence. “My troupe is in need of a lutenist, you know. We usually play once a week over at the Riverboat. You in?”

Emry fiddled with his cup.

“Don’t you need to run that by the rest of your troupe?” he said. His friend waved a hand.

“What, for you? They’ll say yes before I get your name out of my mouth.” He dunked a biscuit into his coffee. “So, you down?”

Emry rubbed his aching leg. The pain had only grown at the man’s words.

“I don’t think so,” he said, then, before the man could look too disappointed- “hey, how’s your family doing?”

A bright spot was waiting for him as he limped back into the house- a letter from Cal, sitting on the little table in the foyer.

“Where were you, love?” Tessa’s voice floated down from the second floor.

“Out with Carson,” Emry said, smiling at Cal’s impossibly neat script. “Just over by the canals.”

“That far?” She appeared at the staircase, hands on the railing. “How are your legs?”

“Fine.”

He winced as soon as he had said it- ‘fine’ was the wrong word. Mothers saw through that word.

She was down the stairs in a second, pushing him into the parlor.

“Sit, I’ll make you some tea.”

“Mum-“

“Sit.”

He did as he was told, then ripped open the envelope and leaned back on the sofa to read Cal’s letter. The first half was an update on her family- all still doing well after the wave, thank Hara- and a note on how her parents wanted him to visit soon.

“Yes, hello, Mr. Breslin,” he muttered darkly to himself, “no, I’m not employed- no, I don’t know what I’m doing with my life- why, yes, I am a terrible choice for your daughter, thank you for pointing that out-“

Tessa poked her head into the room.

“Did you say something?”

“Nothing, Mum.”

He continued reading, and slumped when he reached the last paragraph.

Aspen’s completely legitimate and not at all made-up birthday appears to be the day I said I’d come back to visit. Very convenient of them. Do you have any gift ideas? I was thinking we could split the cost of a lute for them. Not anything fancy, of course- but they so wanted to learn how to play when I left, I think it would be perfect. If you like the idea, I can visit the lutenist in Etris and bring it with me- unless you’d like to pick it out yourself in Senne?

Emry folded up the letter and shoved it into a drawer under the side table, then rubbed his wrists. That pain he had felt in Thisby was coming back again, that stupid feeling of shame that ran down his arms and pooled in his hands.

“Is the pain that bad today?” Tessa’s words made him jump. He quickly recomposed himself and accepted the cup of willow bark tea in her hands.

“Afraid so,” he mumbled. “But this will help. Thanks.”

#the stray spirit #the lost month #my wip #side drabble #emry karic #tw: food #tw: pain

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luck-and-larceny · 5 years ago

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The Nameless Caravan

*just some dumb writing about the bardic/thiefly performance caravan that Malika grew up in, what they did, how they did it, and what she learned from them.

Who They Are

The Nameless Caravan is a traveling performance troupe that features actors, acrobats, jugglers, jesters, fortune tellers, musicians, dancers, and any number of other entertainers, and guards that protect the wagons. They travel from place to place, big and small, putting on variety shows for the locals. The performances range from "absolutely free" to costing a substantial fee depending on the location, size of the troupe that day, and the talents on display.

What Is With The Name (Or Lack Thereof)?

First of all, no one calls the troupe "The Nameless Caravan" apart from people who are in it. The actual name of the performance changes from location to location to keep local authorities, who might have come to a realization that there are just as many thieves in this caravan as there are performers, from interrupting the shows.

Since the caravan has only a few regular performers (jokingly dubbed ‘The Nameless’ by its members), and otherwise hires on gig performers from place to place, changing the name and the look of the caravan from show to show is just a small way to confuse the law.

Who Is In The Caravan/Who are the Nameless?

Most of the people seen in individual shows aren't actual members of the caravan itself. The troupe hires on local performers (and thieves) in the different places that it travels to. Those gig performers can come in for just show and one paycheck or opt for short or long term contracts to travel with the caravan (for a negotiated price) for a more extended tour. However, there are a few lifelong members of the caravan. These are “The Nameless.”

The Nameless know one another’s names and they do use them when not in the presence of hired help and audiences. And they are very happy to supply gig performers that need to call them by name with fake ones to appease them.

How to Join The Caravan

There are talent scouts within the caravan that often move into the cities one or two moons before a performance is being considered. These individuals take their jobs very seriously and attempt to learn as much as possible about anyone they consider inviting for a gig and to keep an eye on the environment/ attitude of the location to make sure it is safe for a show to be performed there. They look for performers, of course, but also scout for extra ‘talent’ (rogueish types) to help with the less legal aspects of the shows (like getting ‘tips’ from audience members)

Where Does Malika Fit Into This?

Malika was once one of The Nameless. She was with the caravan from the age of 3 until 16-- and then ran away (stealing everything in the caravan’s coffers in the process).While she was the group they named her ‘Aerrie’, but she shed that name at the first chance she got and assumed a new one: Malika.

Members who remember her will still remember her by that old name.

When Malika stole away into the night with their stolen coffers she also stole away with the skills she learned from the performance troupe. Thanks to them she's now an accomplished thief, a highly skilled acrobat, and a moderately skilled musician.

Malika has primarily learned wind instruments that are easy to pack up and carry with her each time she flees from one temporary location to another. She tends towards bamboo flutes, panpipes, or ocarina. She is proud of the few songs she can play on lute and frequently tries to learn more, but her skill is not particularly impressive with it. She can also play the piano, and loves doing so, but she's had even less training with that than the other instruments and makes many, many mistakes while doing so (and usually happily so, Malika plays for joy and finds most of her mistakes more funny than embarrassing.)

The problem is that she loves being given opportunities to perform gymnastics or play music and will rarely turn down such opportunities when they arise. And enough time has passed since she ran away that, in her hubris, she's decided the caravan has forgotten about her. They have not.

She now plays songs she learned while with them, on instruments they taught her, with little care or thought given to what might happen if they find her.

Similarly, she takes any theft job she's offered by people she trusts that is presented as a challenge or where the reward is something more interesting/personal than gil.

Her only means of protecting herself is to give out false names and keep moving from location to location. She learned that from the caravan too.

But she won't be all that hard to find if they actually come looking. She's been lingering around lately rather than running off as much as she used to after all…

youtube

RP Hook?

Hey! Have any interest in this? Would it be fun to do traveling bard/rogue performance stuff? Put on shows? Pick pockets? Protect a caravan as a mercenary? Be one of the Nameless or a gig performer? Be robbed by them? Scout talent? Or chase after my low-wisdom, big-personality miqo'te?

Got ideas about how to make this better? Wanna help me develop this more?

Lemme know! It could be fun!

#Writings #The Nameless Caravan #Bamboo flute #Malika #ffxiv rp #Ramblings

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whirlybirbs · 6 years ago

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PLEASE, GIVE US YRI'S BACK STORY. IS SHE GUNNA STEAL LOKI'S HEART?

◎ ┄ MAGNIFICENT BASTARDS !

one. we learn how you befriended your merry band of thieves. thor & loki anticipate their father’s scorn while you and the boys inspect draupnir and the apparent fact it’s protection money. a moral dilemma arises.paring: pre-everything!loki x rogue!reader, set pre-thor 1.listen to: pirate shanties, probably, it’s a bar brawl!a/n: i full anticipate creating my own story world, okay?

previous chapter ┅ pinterest ┅ ko-fi

Ow.

The tavern table rocks on impact and the lithe frame of an Asgardian is suddenly doused in the warm froth of a hoppy mead as she reels from the kick to the chest. Around her, the bar’s patrons shout with raucous laughter as she rolls away from the gilded, armored hands scrambling for her. She falls from the table with a sturdy oof, before crawling underfoot, trying to duck and dodge the towering, golden royal guards hurtling Old Norse curses her way.

For the full-house of the Wulfshead Tavern, this wasn’t different from any other night. The tavern is on the outskirts of the realm’s capital, and if Odin’s personal hounds weren’t here wetting their appetites, then they were here serving warrants.

Tonight, you’re the unlucky one they’re trying to arrest.

You’re on the run; but, from the looks of it, you’re not getting very far.

You are quick, though, hiking yourself up on top of the tables and bounding around pints of ale and plates of meals as you spot a clearing by the stairs. You bolt, apologies flying from your lips as you balance on your toes and jump, landing a solid footing on the face of an unsuspecting guard in an inopportune place – behind you, the mad scramble has poured over and you yelp, bounding off the guards face up the banister of the stairs.

“Sorry!”

You can hear the commotion of a fall behind you; sure enough, the guards are struggling over their fallen compatriot with a boot shaped dent in his helmet.

It gives you time, though barely enough to slip into the crowd on the upper mezzanine.

Tugging your hood up high and ducking behind a group of Elven mercenaries, the you settle into slouching over a warm pint of abandoned mead and listening in on the trio of bards perched atop the tables in the center of the balcony.

They’re singing, though not well, and the sonnet is struck to the off-tune beat of a lute. The instrument looks incredibly small in the grip of the tattooed Qunari strumming it – his horns tower upwards, knocking the chandelier as he side-steps his Elven counterpart. The sandy-haired elf seems content on being the center of attention, as a cluster of maidens have opted to staring.

You watch as the elf tosses a wink, and the Dwarf beside him tosses back a pint.

The sight is so… odd that you nearly miss the royal guards that have begun to comb through the tavern’s mezzanine.

(It’s rare to see an Qunari, let alone an elf and a dwarf, on the outskirt of the realm’s capital. Odin was a staunch critic of the mingling of blood – he preferred Asgardians, through and through, and didn’t show any shame in his blatant disregard for the other races who’d come to call this realm home.)

It’s the Qunari that begins the crooning tune that gains the patrons’ attention, leaving you to attempt to shift unnoticed by the guards moving ever closer to your position. You needed to get out of here.

“Oh, dear barkeep,” the slate colored giant begins, voice dipping low into a cheerful bellow, “Bossum a plenty!”

“What’s y’name? Jenny?” the Dwarf slurs, shooting the bartender in question a sly look, only to walloped upside the head by the blonde elf beside him. The action raises laughter across the mezzanine, and the guards seem to be distracted for the time being.

You can see a scowl of disgust fleet across the Guard Captain’s face.

“Nevermind her name, you idiot –” the Elf hisses, voice flying into a smooth crescendo, “We come from afar, you see, to sing for your bar! I, your elf-in-waiting –

“– and I, a gentle soul lute-ing–”

“They’re both mighty frustraaaaating.”

The Dwarf is served a look which he easily shrugs off. You smother an amused grin, eyes caught on the trio as the rest of the tavern seems just as equally enraptured. It’s hard not to stare at the comedic timing playing out on the center of the balcony.

“They call us the bastards three!”

“Gods, I have to pee –”

“Oi!”

The lute’s last note is a shrill breakage of a chord at the shout of the royal guard; the Qunari freezes, eyes widening at the sight of the golden armored men encroaching on the performers’ circle. There’s a moment of silence.

And, then, the elf clears his throat.

“Good day, sir,” a gentile bow, “How may we help you?”

“Bastards three, eh?” the guard’s voice echoes in his helmet, “Sounds awfully familiar – sure you’re not them Maleficent Bastards, then?”

“Who? Us? Those… Those… thieves? Psh. No –”

“– It’s actually The Magnificent Bastards, officer.”

The horrified look on the Qunari’s face gives it all away, and the Dwarf is walloped upside the head again by the elf. The red-bearded drunk stumbles, plastered, and falls from the table with a heavy fwop.

The group of guards breaks into cheerful laughter. “Look at that boys! Two warrants served in one night… Lady Sif will be most pleased.”

“Two… warrants?” the elf questions, wringing his hands.

“We’re looking for a woman. This tall,” the guard captain motions with his hands as he turns to address the crowd. His voice bellows across the tavern, “She’s wanted by the crown, one of Gamli’s daughters –”

You freeze, halfway to the stairs.

The name alone raises murmurs across the tavern, and yet no one moves, a bit too enthralled with their gossip and struck up on the code of no snitching. That name, Gamli, is notorious among the rag-tag sort out here. Your chest swells in pride for a moment at the mention of your father and the wide-eyed looks that follow.

After a moment of morally-aforementioned-agreed silence, the captain digs into his pack and musters a small coin purse. Eyes beneath the golden helmet scan the crowd, fist raised. The coin purse jingles.

“There’s a reward for her capture!”

The pride is gone and you’re cursing your father in his grave.

You are so quickly shoved to the front of the circle you nearly topple over – your eyes are wide under the glare of the Captain you’d not-so-kindly kicked in the face. Dirt is smeared across his jaw, brows set in anger. His helmet is dented, scuffed from the impact of her boot.

He scoffs, grabbing you by the upper arm roughly.

“Not so quick now, huh, girl?” he motions behind him, “Gather the three. They’ve got quite the bounty on their heads.”

There’s a beat of a moment then, when, the Bastards Three decide… not today.

The Qunari gives you a look, and before you can even question what he’s doing, you’re being tossed a lute. You wrangle from the grip of the captain, blinking down at the instrument in your grip before you swing hard with two hands, clocking the captain upside the jaw and shattering the instrument.

The tavern is fast to scatter into a massive brawl.

In the midst of it all, you’re ducking and dodging and leaping over tables to try and get out of the fray. You make a break for the stairwell, only to skid to a stop as the roaring Qunari throttles a punch into the face of a guard, knocking him back over the banister and down into the tables below the balcony.

The guard lands flat in the middle of a table, groaning as the tavern erupts into jeers of excitement as two men knock tankards over him.

The Qunari is quick to pluck his Dwarven friend from the clutches of a gaggle of scared working ladies. “Time to go, Taegan!”

You spin, spying the elf making a close on their spot by the stairs; before you can protest, you’re quickly dragged down the flight by the huge hand of the Qunari as guards shout over the fight, trying to grab the quartet.

“Come on!” he shouts, muscling you towards the back exit of the tavern, “Us bastards gotta stick together!”

And that’s how you became so suddenly inducted into the traveling troupe of thieves who called themselves the Magnificent Bastards.

They were an interesting bunch; the Qunari, Jarak, was more of a gentle giant than anything, really. He had a penchant for the lute and story-telling and he very much loved his friends – he got along swimmingly with you, excited to have a more feminine touch around camp. His tent was the biggest, as the Tal-Vosoth’s horns mimicked that of a bull. They were chipped in places, but never failed to make doorways difficult and intimidation easy.

Taegan Cormyth, the resident high-elf, was a bit of an ass. But, you guess it was to be expected from a disgraced noble trying to make his own way. The blonde archer was… a child, really. Aside from being womanizing and stubborn and self-absorbed, the elf had muscled his way into a faux-leadership position which typically led to more trouble than it was worth.

Ogras Dragonbow, the wise (and usually drunk) Dwarf, made it his job to give Taegan a hard time which usually made for a good amount of laughs around the campfire. You liked the Dwarf – and though he hinted at a darker past than the others, you never asked when brought him to this little traveling troupe in the first place.

The whole Wulfshead-Tavern-Incident was a year and a half ago.

Currently, you’re hunched over a single ring of gold as Jarak stokes the fire. To your sides, Ogras and Taegan watch as you plant your hands on your hips and tut.

“S’magic, innit?”

“It is,” Taegan says, eyes never leaving the ring, “Y’think it’s cursed?”

“I doubt it,” you hum, squatting and prodding at it with a stick. You’d previously been wearing it, until the ring suddenly flared up with such a biting sort of heat you’d screeched and leapt from your horse, chucking the ring from your hand and into the undergrowth on the way back to camp.

You’d all then spent an hour combing the bushes to find it, much to everyone’s dismay.

You poke it again.

Nothing.

“Maybe it’s not meant to be worn,” Jarak offers politely, settling in by the fire and beginning to skin the rabbit he’d caught earlier for dinner, “Maybe it’s just for show.”

“Odin commissioned a trophy ring?”

Jarak waves his hand (in turn, waving the filleted rabbit carcass), “I dunno, he’s a king. Isn’t that, like, a king thing?”

“Trophy rings?” Taegan’s face morphs into confusion.

He looks to you for guidance. You simply shrug.

It’s Ogras’ turn to squat and inspect now, and the Dwarf makes a small ‘ah-hah!’ sound after a moment.

“S’got Dwarven runes onnit, i’does,” he croons, moving to muscle one single monocle from the travel pack below his broad, gold cuirasse. It’s comically small in his meaty hands. He holds it up to his eye, laying flat on the ground and eyeing the ring closely, “Says ‘ere it’s name is draupnir.”

By the fire, Jarak lets out a low rumble. “Who names a ring?”

Taegan scoffs. “Kings, apparently.”

“It’s a magic ring,” you remind gently, “Of course it’s got a name.”

“Says ‘smithed by Brokkr & Eitri, a gift to the glorious and all powerful Odin as repayment for your gracious protection to our village and mines. We thank you’.”

Your jaw falls.

Jarak makes a surprised sound. “Woah, woah, woah. Did we steal someone’s protection money?”

“Oof.”

Ogras mimics Taegan’s oof.

“Magic protection money,” you mutter, hands on your hips again.

“Shit.”

“I say we lie.”

Loki watches as his brother drops his head into his hands as they begin to near on the capital’s walls – a top his horse, the God of Mischief spares his brother a side-eye, dark brow quirked as the amble on. The blonde, it seems, is in the midst of a moral dilemma.

Loki’s thankful his threshold is high for those.

Thor is lost in thought and it’s awfully painful to watch – Loki can practically hear the gears in his head turning. Not to say Thor is dim-witted… but, he’s never been the thinker of the family.

“We can’t lie!” Thor finally bellows, tossing a hand as his other grips the reins, “Father will know.”

“Then we tell the truth,” a shrug, “We were robbed along the trail –”

“We can’t do that either!” the blonde cries, giving Loki a pained look from his perch upon his steed, “And since when have you ever been a proponent of telling the truth, Loki?”

Loki presses his hand to his chest, matching Thor’s canter. “Well, it wouldn’t be the whole truth, of course –”

“Father sent us to Svartalfheim to retrieve Brokkr and Eitri’s payment for a reason,” Thor begins, “He wants to trust us, wants to see that we can carry out duties of the crown – And those mean bastards stole draupnir. They stole it.”

“Magnificence Bastards.”

“Whatever.”

Loki’s face falls as the rant continues. He rolls his eyes. “Brother – you are completely neglecting the fact we have the fake. We simply tell father it is the real one. Problem solved.”

Thor pouts.

“Everything will be fine,” Loki breathes, “Just leave it to me.”

It’s not a good idea, but what else could they do?

#magbastards #loki x reader #loki laufeyson imagine #loki imagine #loki x reader imagine #loki laufeyson preference #loki fanfic #loki reader insert #Anonymous

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imsvg · 6 years ago

Text

firsts

Fandom: Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia Pairing: MomoJirou (Momo Yaoyorozu/Kyouka Jirou) Words: 2182 Summary: In which Kyouka and Momo share a late-night conversation, leading to something much...greater. Fantasy AU Links: FF is here! AO3 is here!

even though she might never read this bc she doesn't know i write fanfic, s/o to my beautiful gf who helped me through my first year of college and the countless late-night talks we had that inspired me to write this.

"Do you miss home?"

The question is unexpected. Kyouka turns and sees Momo cuddled in her fur blanket, wrapping it around her as tightly as she can to protect herself from the bitter bite of the winter wind. Her nose is red from the cold, its color slowly spreading to her cheeks. As she exhales, her breath materializes momentarily, before it disappears as quickly as it appeared. Her eyes, those warm, brown eyes, shimmer in the silver moonlight, like pools of honey, as she stares straight up into the night sky, fixated.

Kyouka averts her gaze and stares down at the oversized cloak she wrapped around her body. She buries her chin and mouth in its thick fur, curling herself into a smaller ball, bringing her knees closer up to her chest.

"Yeah," she finally says, "I do."

"…How often?"

Kyouka takes time to think. It's strange how her feelings suddenly dissipate once someone asks about them. "I—mm—it's hard to say, really. Sometimes I miss home a lot, other times I don't—up to the point where I don't even think about it."

She hears a soft hum. Kyouka turns her head again, and finds Momo in that exact position. "Do you miss home?" she asks.

Momo moves. She does what Kyouka did, tucking her chin and mouth in her blanket, bringing her knees up against her chest. The bard can hear the faint clink, clink of the knight's armor.

"I do," Momo begins, "but I find it kind of…stupid."

Kyouka raises an eyebrow in slight surprise and interest. "Why do you think that?"

The bard watches as Momo's eyes become unreadable—Kyouka catches hints of somberness and cynicism, but nothing…concrete.

"Because, you know, I don't come from a far place." She laughs. It sounds…degrading, and it sends shivers down Kyouka's spine. "I only live in the neighboring district. I don't come from across the continent like you, or Izuku. Even Iida and Shouto live farther away compared to me, and they only live in the next towns over. I think, if we were to be honest, I don't think I really have a right to be homesick."

The bard is at a loss for words. She sits there, letting the information simmer inside, digesting it slowly. It feels like forever until she finally says, "I…I don't think it's really about who deserves to feel that way or not. I mean, if someone died one way, and someone else died another, in the end, both of them died. Things like this is—mm—is something I think can't be measured by who does and doesn't deserve something. Y-you know?" She turns her head and sees Momo staring at her blanket. The knight seems far away and distant, clearly lost in thought.

Kyouka's body begins to heat up from anxiety. "U-uh, I don't think what I said made sense but—"

"It did." Momo raises her head and gives Kyouka a soft, warm smile. Tension leaves the bard's body, melting away like ice. "It did, don't worry."

"…Can I ask you a question?"

"Of course."

"What do you miss about home?"

"What do I miss…?" Momo repeats the question, but in a way that sounds pensive rather than asking for clarification. A moment passes and she breaks out into laughter. It sounds so rich, so full of life, so unlike her previous one. This one sounds more like Momo, Kyouka thinks to herself.

"My definition of home isn't…orthodox, I guess you can say. I don't think about the place I live in now. I think about the place I used to live in."

"Did you move estates?"

"No, I didn't. I've been living in the same house ever since I was born. But it was different back then. Mother was alive, Father was always there and smiling. The staff laughed with joy whenever they served us. The hearth was always alive as the sun set, keeping the cold at bay. I would sit in between Mother and Father, sharing in their warmth as we watched the flames dance in front of us. They wouldn't wear their armor. They looked like…regular people. They weren't renowned heroes of Yuuei's army, nor were they folk heroes. No titles, no family name to uphold—we were just…people. Like the ones who walk in the market every day."

The nostalgic smile on Momo's face melts away. Something heavy settles in the air, and Kyouka suddenly feels colder.

"It's not the same as it used to be," Momo says softly, "but I wish it was."

Silence settles between them.

It's suffocating. The bard's throat feels like it tied itself into a knot. She struggles to find air and words, no thought coming to mind. Slowly, she turns away, feeling as if she had asked a question she shouldn't have.

"Sorry," is all she says.

Kyouka hears a sigh. "It's fine," Momo says, "it's not your fault."

"Still, I probably shouldn't have asked in the first place."

A weight rests on Kyouka's shoulder. Strands of wild, black hair tickle the side of her cheek. Something rich and vibrant, like perfume, hits Kyouka's sense of smell, filling up her lungs and chest with something…warm, sweet, like caramelized sugar.

"I think talking about it made me feel a little bit better about it," Momo says, her voice carrying soft vibrations that run down Kyouka's arm.

Subconscious tension leaves the bard's body. She relaxes, and gingerly, places her face on top of Momo's head. They stay like that, wrapped up in their blankets and cloaks, sharing what little warmth they can with one another. They stare at the sky together, in silence, watching the stars wink at them from their place in the heavens. Kyouka recalls the vague shapes she memorized diligently when she was a child, sitting underneath the night sky with her parents as her mother sang songs of myths and legends and her father plucked his lute.

"—ka? —ouka? Kyouka?"

"H-huh? Wh-wha?" She blinks, and notices Momo lifted her head to stare at her quizzically.

"Are you okay?" the knight asks.

"Y-yeah. I was just…lost in my thoughts, sorry."

Momo nods understandingly, the look of concern melting off of her face. "I'm guessing you didn't hear what I said, then," she says with a playful smile.

Kyouka feels her cheeks burn with embarrassment. "N-no. S-sorry."

"It's fine, don't worry." Momo readjusts herself and places her head back on Kyouka's shoulder. "I asked what you missed about home."

"The food," she says without hesitation. "I mean, I know that the food here is, comparatively, way better, but the food from back home has something else that…this place doesn't have for me, yet. And—and I think it's the fact it's missing warmth. N-not like literal warmth; you know, more like the emotional kind. And I think it's because of this lack of warmth that I miss my parents' stories."

"Their…stories? Like, the stories they told during their travels?"

"Yeah. They'd recite epics and poems and songs and myths and legends from memory when I was a kid. They would sing and dance, and I would learn their craft. And while I learned how to play lute, they would recount tales of when they sailed across the sea and traveled throughout the continent in troupes and adventuring groups, performing in streets and pubs. It was all so normal and so mundane compared to the other stories they would tell me, but I always thought their stories were the most fantastical of all."

Momo laughs again, this one soft and delicate like an aria. "They sound like amazing people," she says quietly.

Kyouka feels her face flush. It's not in the usual, embarrassed way, however; this is something full of pride, full of honor. For the first time ever since she came to Yuuei, Kyouka finds herself taking pride in her roots. For once, there is no shame about her lack of training, money, nor luxury. For once, she doesn't feel the need to hide herself, her stories, and her talent.

For once, she actually feels proud to be who she is.

"Yeah," she says with a small smile, "they are."

The weight on Kyouka's shoulder is lifted, and the bard turns to see the knight staring at her. Kyouka takes in the way the moon shines down on Momo, silver moonlight gleaming off of her plate armor, causing those brilliant brown eyes to shimmer like gems. The knight's wild black hair sways in the soft wind, individual strands dancing as she continues to stare at the bard, and Kyouka swears she's looking at a goddess, like the ones her parents would sing of. There's something about Momo that makes her seem…ethereal, other-wordly, as if she was plucked from the heavens and planted gently on this mortal realm.

Kyouka's lungs ache because she forgets how to breathe. She releases the breath she's been holding for so long, exhaling softly, but it hitches in her throat when she feels something cold kissing her warm cheek. She reaches up and grabs onto Momo's hand, wrapping her fingers around the cold knight's.

"And you," Momo begins quietly, "you're just as amazing."

"No," Kyouka says with a breathless laugh, "you are."

Momo returns the same laugh, and it's only then does Kyouka realize how close they are to one another. She can feel the knight's warmth, her scent, her forehead pressing against hers…with every passing moment, they get closer and closer, their noses brushing against one another, lips sharing the same breath—

Kyouka feels her heart beating in her skull, her chest. It's erratic, pumping blood and adrenaline throughout her body, warming her face and ears, coloring her cheeks, pushing her closer and closer and closer and closer—

Their lips touch, and suddenly Kyouka doesn't know how to function. She feels entranced, as if she's under a spell, as if she lost control of everything. Her heart beats faster than ever, rattling inside of her ribcage, its beat reverberating throughout her body. Her lungs forget how to breathe again, but she doesn't care, not when she's kissing—oh gods, she's kissing Momo, she's actually kissing Momo, and her lips are chapped, but so, so soft, and they're moving against hers, and Momo moves her hand to pull her just a little bit closer, and—

They break away. Kyouka sucks in a breath through her nose, the cold air doing nothing to cool her down. Her heart is rampaging in her chest, and she swears she might pass out at any moment, because by the gods she just kissed Momo—

"Are you okay?" Momo asks, her warm breath buffeting Kyouka's lips as she pulls back her hand.

The bard blinks, remembering where she is, before saying, "Y-yeah. I just—wow." She pulls back a little more and runs a hand through her hair, laughing breathlessly. "Wow."

"Is…that a bad 'wow?'"

"N-no! I'm just—wow—I'm just—that's…I've never done something like that before. I'm just kind of—blown away, is all. I-in a good way, of course." Kyouka clears her throat, embarrassed at her blunders. "A-are you okay?"

Momo smiles, and tucks a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "More than okay. If I'm being honest I've, mm"—she turns away, her cheeks turning as red as Ejirou's hair—"been wanting to do that for a while."

Kyouka feels her face heating up. "Y-you have?"

"I—I know it's strange I just—couldn't help feeling that way. You just…make me feel safe. I don't know how else to describe it. There's just something about you—I don't know if it's your songs or your voice or just your mere presence—but I just feel so…so safe every time I'm with you. Like nothing could go wrong. Like…like you're home." The knight looks up, almost sheepishly, and quietly asks, "Does that make sense?"

A crooked smile tugs on Kyouka's lips. "It does. Because I feel the same way whenever I'm with you, too."

"Do you?" Momo's eyes widen with surprise.

"I do," is all the bard says before she twines their fingers together.

"…So what now?"

"What do you mean?"

"What do we do now? Are we…you know…."

The suggestion makes the tips of Kyouka's ears burn. "H-honestly, I don't know. But what I do know," she continues, squeezing Momo's hand in hers, "is that I want to stay by your side. And I don't want to lose you."

The knight smiles, then nods. "I want that, too."

Nothing else is said between them after. They continue sitting there, just as they had been throughout the night, but Kyouka notices differences. They're closer together, their hands are locked together, and there is something burning in Kyouka's chest, like an ember, sitting underneath her heart.

The bard doesn't know what love feels like. But as she sits next to the knight, holding her close, Kyouka wonders if this is the beginning of something similar.

The thought makes her smile.

it's been a hot second since i last wrote anything, so i'm really sorry if i'm rusty. i guess you can say that this is a continuation of the first MomoJirou fic I wrote a while back, but I wrote them kind of independently from one another. I remember mentioning a whole fantasy AU I was writing for BNHA, and while my motivation for that has kind of wavered, im on summer break from college now. so maybe i'll be able to put smth up for that? im just not sure what course i want to take for that story. it sux.

but anyways, i hope you enjoyed this oneshot. if you want more of these two in this particular universe, please let me know! i'd love to flesh out the whole fantasy au with just these two to give me some sort of foundation for the bigger project.

thank you for reading! i love you!

#i write #momojirou #jiroumomo #momo yaoyorozu #jirou kyouka #bnha #bnha fanfic #wlw

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friendshipcampaign · 6 years ago

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Session Recap 4/24/19: Pi-rasslin’

Their first day back in Wayspell, the party busied themselves with assorted tasks independently of each other – largely research, but some hands-on learning or other personal errands as well. Kriv visited a temple to Bahamut and spoke with one of the clerics there about the nature of faith. Erwyn finally had the chance to take Alembic up on his promised lessons in sealing portals, and ended up proving surprisingly adept at his initial attempts. Ditto spoke with one of the Infinite Library flumphs, named Jagat, about the Far Realm, and received some worrying information about creatures called Great Ones.

At the end of the first day, Ditto sought out Kriv – who was decidedly more cleaned up than usual after his visit to the temple, clad in some nicer new clothes he had purchased. She told him what Jagat had mentioned to her, and that she was hoping to see if the flumph could reach into her memories, but that there was a danger inherent to thinking about the creature she’d witness and it seemed prudent to have someone nearby to potentially heal her or talk to her if it was needed. They planned to try the next morning. That night, Erwyn visited Palava and had a reassuring conversation with him about homesickness after the two of them visited an Elvish bakery.

The next morning Kriv and Ditto found Hubris having some kind of magical duel with another Loremaster. The pair cheered her on when she successfully came out on top, and she teleported down to them to take them both to the Library. After getting them inside, she mentioned having another duel before noon and dashed off. Jagat appeared shortly after their arrival and asked them to join hands so they could transport to a different hex. Once there, Kriv cast Bless on Ditto before Jagat retrieved the memories she had of the creature she’d accidentally summoned. Once they had completed the process, Jagat’s glow faded to a subdued indigo, and they solemnly told Ditto they feared she was correct about having seen a Great One – smaller than average, though it could have grown in the years since.

“I’m… I’m gonna take a nap here, now,” Ditto said, sounding exhausted, and lay down on the floor.

Kriv comfortingly pat her head and, as Ditto slept. He asked Jagat about the creature and learned that, when outside of the Far Realms, Great Ones could cause harm to both themselves and the world. Jagat advised caution due to the power of this creature, even in their mission to be kind. Kriv promised that his goal was to keep Ditto and the others safe.

That evening, Amaranth – who had asked Hubris for the dirt on some local taverns – took it upon herself to round up the others. She found Kriv at the inn, along with Voski, whom none of them had seen for the last 36 hours and who was crackling angrily, draped across a table, having changed her armor to something less overtly adventure-y while doing library research. When Amaranth asked Voski how her research had been going, she slapped a very short list of research references on the table and started ranting about the library being full of thousands of unhelpful ballads. She admitted, sounding vaguely manic, that she may have stolen the shawl she was wearing because everything else was a blur.

“Voski, how do you feel about learning a little more about Wayspell history?” Amaranth asked.

“Elaborate,” she said.

Amaranth danced around her proposition a bit longer, saying she’d learned about an interesting place in the theater district, before being more blunt.

“I’m saying, do you want to go get trashed with me?” she said.

“Yes. Yes. Yes,” Voski replied, before dashing upstairs.

“I’ve never seen her so excited in her life,” Kriv commented.

“This will be an experience for all of us,” Amaranth said.

They then went to “wrangle the bookworms” as Kriv described it. They were able to get into the Infinite Library through Hubris after visiting her office. Ditto was at a table with many books scattered around her. Amaranth announced that she was going to rescue her from the books. She seemed a little hesitant to stop studying at first.

“Please come. Voski is weirdly excited and I need help,” Kriv whispered to her.

Ditto grinned widely and agreed to come.

They were able to find Erwyn, who was also in the Infinite Library, doing some research with Alembic and Palava. Amaranth announced to him that he needed a break and they were going to a pub to party – but promised to buy him some hot chocolate.

“I’m mildly concerned about some of the adjectives being used, but I’m not opposed to the idea of a break,” he said.

“Great!” Amaranth said.

Palava told Erwyn to have fun as Amaranth bodily grabbed Erwyn and dragged him off, he and Alembic waving after them. Back at the inn, Voski emerged, having changed her armor again to a matte black outfit and donned some of her jewelry. The group then made their way to the theater district, and on the way were spotted by some of the kids that Amaranth and Ditto had helped before by stealing back the cuna. They chatted with Amaranth for a bit about a play their theater troupe was doing called “Blade of Vengeance”. Amaranth said it sounded awesome due to the amount of blood and guts in it. As they walked away, Ditto revealed to the others that these were the children that she and Amaranth helped steal for, and who had later proved good accomplices. “Well, it’s good to know that they’re already on their way to a life of crime on their own,” Voski said.

They rounded a corner and saw the tavern they were headed to – in the form of a decent-sized ship wedged between two buildings on the street. The sign out front read “Jolly Roger’s” and bore a somewhat goofy-looking skull and crossbones. As she started up the plank to the deck, Amaranth waggled her eyebrows at the rest of the party before walking inside.

“I think I’m starting to get some idea what Amaranth’s previous sphere of employment was,” Erwyn said.

The interior of the place was bright and smoky. Some musicians in the corner on the lute, viol, and accordion respectively were playing some shanties. A kobold behind the counter was dressed in over-the-top pirate garb. A parrot looked at the group from its perch as they entered. The whole place was exceedingly tacky. Amaranth commented that she wasn’t sure if Hubris had been playing a joke on her, but she found the place hilarious – and that it would do for the night.

Amaranth bought drinks for everyone. Voski asked for a Dark and Stormy. Erwyn warily asked her what she recommended and she ordered him an artisanal rum, due to it seeming to be the most elf-y on the menu. Ditto just went for the cocktail with the most ridiculous name, and Amaranth got herself the most ridiculously pirate-y sounding drink on the menu. Kriv listed off an alarming number of ingredients, including an egg, for one mixed drink, claiming that his Uncle Frankle used to order the same thing and call it a “Hex.”

Scanning the room, Amaranth noticed that along with the more touristy crowd, there were some individuals towards the back, including a sharp-looking tortle, who appeared like they might be involved with a more legitimately criminal element than the atmosphere of the venue implied. As their food arrived, Kriv commented to Amaranth that this place seemed like it was more “bedtime story” pirate-y than real pirate-y. She replied that she’d taken a chance.

As the group talked, Voski explained the fruitlessness of her research so far, and that she hadn’t unearthed anything important. As it turned out, references to the fey anchors and even to Elessea herself were so shrouded in mystery, legend, and song that reliable primary sources were hard to come by. Sympathetically, Erwyn remarked that academia was largely a mistake.

Kriv finished his drink and Ditto remarked incredulously that she couldn’t believe he’d downed the whole thing. After he remarked he intended to drink more, Erwyn handed him his rum, which he’d taken about two sips of before deciding it had been a mistake.

Ditto Messaged Voski. “Hey, can dragonborn drink more, or is this just him?”

Voski ignored the question and ordered a plate of meatballs. The toothpicks in them had little novelty pirate flags.

Amaranth eventually wandered over to the other part of the bar, where she’d noticed the more criminal-looking types. She first approached a dwarf, who she’d spotted sporting a telltale earring. She tapped a Thieves’ Cant pattern on a nearby table before speaking to him. He replied in turn. In coded talk, she expressed some potential interest in the more criminal element in the city.

Back at the table where the rest of the party was sitting, Voski ordered a second Dark and Stormy and maintained that she was “drinking a perfectly reasonable amount, shut up, Kriv.”

The dwarf asked how long Amaranth was going to be in town and she admitted not much longer, but they were intending to come back, and she’d remember his face next time they were in town. He told her not to mention any of this to Roger, the kobold who ran the place, as he was really only affiliated with the “upper level,” but that if she was interested in any exclusive events in the area she should come back and ask for Carlotta.

Amaranth sauntered back to the table and happily announced that the bar was seedier than originally thought. Voski said she didn’t care unless that element tried to kill them, but referred to it as networking. Kriv asked if there was any money in it. As Amaranth was fairly drunk at this point, she answered a little louder than was strictly necessary, catching some glares from the people she’d talked to in the back – as well as the parrot at the bar. Erwyn seemed distressed by the talk and mentioned he didn’t exactly feel like they needed more sources of money, as he was more well-off thanks to their adventuring than he was accustomed to. Kriv pointed out that they weren’t exactly being paid and needed a source of income or it would run out eventually, while Amaranth maintained that at least criminals would pay you for the work you do.

Kriv put down his empty rum glass and slapped his face, using Lay on Hands to get rid of his drunkenness. He gleefully announced that if Amaranth ever got drunk in a non-party situation he had a solution and would just “slap the shit” out of her as a DIY hangover cure.

“Truly, Bahamut’s gifts are… noble,” Erwyn sighed.

Amaranth started singing along to some of the shanties that the band was playing. A group of halfling wine mom types who’d been dancing to the music noticed this and dragged her over, prompting her to try to get the rest of the bar to sing along with her. After she came back to the booth, she mentioned to the group that Hubris had told her about another bar in the area where you could wrestle bears – which Erwyn was concerned about until she clarified they were druids, who just turned into bears for the wrestling. Kriv asked Amaranth if she intended to wrestle a bear if they went there, which she adamantly said she would.

“Amaranth, do you think one of these little noodles could wrestle a bear?” Kriv asked, picking up one of her arms and waving it around. “You couldn’t even wrestle me.”

Amaranth took that as a challenge.

“You know,” Voski said, “There’s a lot of fables that start with this exact premise, and a lot of them end in brutal slaughter.”

“That’s what I live for!” Amaranth said.

“Are you just going to wrestle out in the street?” Erwyn asked.

Kriv said he wasn’t sure the bartender would approve them wrestling in his bar, but Roger seemed very into what was unfolding.

“I’ve been to bars where everyone was fighting, or someone was murdered,” Amaranth slurred. “This is nothing. This place has the spirit, it’s trying and just needs a little help to get there.”

Some of the other patrons at the bar had taken note at this point and started egging the pair on. Amaranth requested a rowdy shanty from the band as Kriv started rolling up his sleeves. He told her wrestling meant no weapons, and she pulled multiple knives out of her clothing to discard them.

“Yes, have fun, this is a great idea,” Voski said as they squared up, Inspiring Amaranth.

Amaranth flung herself at Kriv and slammed into him, but the dragonborn remained solidly standing.

“Hey Amaranth, do you know what my name means?” Kriv said, wrapping his arms around her waist.

“What? I don’t know Draconic,” she said.

“It means ‘wall,’” he replied, before pinning her to the ground.

Amaranth tried to wriggle out of the grapple and failed. Kriv held her down and talked about how he used to have a lot of fun wrestling with his brother, and that she really needed to step it up a bit. The halflings from earlier cheered her on. Eventually she managed to squeeze out of his grip and rolled away, before getting up and climbing on his back.

“You know, I tried this many times with Erna,” Kriv said, before falling backwards and taking her with him. “It never really worked.”

Despite Kriv now being on top of her, Amaranth clung to him tighter and tried to give him a noogie to get him to let her go. Kriv started to theatrically flail and roll over to the side. Amaranth and the audience both totally thought her ploy was working.

“At any point you can say you quit,” Kriv said, flipping around and putting her into a headlock.

“Never!” Amaranth shouted,

Despite her protests, Amaranth was visibly flagging. The two of them sparred a bit longer, and Amaranth looked around for something new to work with and grabbed a chair. Voski tried, too late, to grab it away from her, and Kriv warned her against it, reminding her about personal property. Amaranth slammed the chair into Kriv, who was merely jostled but remained standing. He looked nervously at the tavern owner, worried that the act would get them in trouble, but the kobold seemed to be loving it. Ditto cheered the two of them on, while the others in the group – namely Erwyn – seemed to be trying their best to act like they hadn’t come in with the pair.

Kriv threw Amaranth against an empty table. She did a cool backflip and landed on her feet at the other side. She stood on top of the table, made a flying leap at Kriv, and ended up landing flat on her face. One of the halfling women, impassioned, picked up a chair and ran at Kriv herself, swinging at his leg and missing the attack. Amaranth just lay defeated on the ground, having effectively knocked herself out. Kriv asked for the crowd to give her some applause.

“Alright, and that has been our production of act three, scene seven of The Clash of the Giants,” Voski said, addressing the crowd herself. “As you can see, it’s a very valuable object lesson in meaningless, endless, constantly escalating conflict. We’re the Scalegloss Players; you’ll find us somewhere.”

In the middle of Voski’s speech, Amaranth suddenly woke up with a “Wooo!,” her fist shooting up to hit Kriv’s nose as he revived her. He tossed her arm over his shoulder and took a bow. The halfling who had picked up the chair went over to the pair, thanking Amaranth, who told her that she could always start a bar fight anytime herself – prompting an alarming glimmer in the woman’s eyes. Kriv healed Amaranth for the damage she’d taken in the fight.

“Thanks, Kriv. I won, right?” Amaranth asked, still drunk.

“You won in the hearts of your fans,” he told her.

Roger offered Amaranth a drink for the road, as thanks for her thrilling contribution to the evening on her way out.

“I actually think I prefer going places with you all when we’re in danger of dying,” Erwyn said as they left.

“It’s still early,” Voski replied.

#session recap

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travelworldnetwork · 7 years ago

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In Syria, music runs deeper into the fabric of the place than anywhere else in the world.

Long before the modern state was formed in 1946, Syria had developed rich musical traditions over thousands of years. The diverse religions, sects and ethnicities that inhabited and travelled across the country over the millennia – Muslims, Christians, Jews, Arabs, Assyrians, Armenians and Kurds, to name but a few – all contributed to this eclectic musical heritage.

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Songs of ancient Syria

In the 1950s, archaeologists found 29 3,400-year-old clay tablets in a small cubicle – likely a library – in the ancient port city of Ugarit on Syria’s Mediterranean coast. They were mostly broken into tiny fragments, but one, which came to be known as H6, remained in larger pieces. Inscribed on it were lyrics, and underneath them is what researchers believe is the earliest example of musical notation anywhere in the world.

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These shards of clay are the beginnings of an incomparable musical heritage.

Academics have spent years literally piecing together the tablets, trying to work out what was written on them, what it meant and how the musical notation might sound were it to be played again. The text is in Babylonian cuneiform script, a system of writing that spread throughout the region several millennia ago.

We could read the script… but we didn’t have any idea what it meant

“The problem with this tablet is that – we could read the script because it was written in Babylonian cuneiform, and we know the value of the signs – but we didn’t have any idea what it meant,” said Richard Dumbrill, professor of archaeomusicology at Babylon University in Iraq, who has worked on the Ugarit tablets for more than two decades.

Dumbrill described how he attempted on many occasions to reconstruct the Ugarit tablets in order to translate the text and music inscribed on them: “I took photographs and I tried to build them as a puzzle, but some had been damaged beyond reconstruction.”

View image of Markings on a 3,400-year-old tablet could be world’s earliest example of music notation (Credit: Credit: Leila Molana-Allen)

The translation difficulties were a product of the text being written in a language known as Hurrian from the north-east Caucasus, probably in modern-day Armenia, but which ended up in Syria’s fertile lands.

“These people migrated towards north-west Syria – it took them a good couple of thousand years – and decided to use the Babylonian signs to write their text and their music,” Dumbrill said. “So it was extremely difficult to translate. However, I managed to find out that the text below the two lines were musical names that were Hurrianised – that is, they were Babylonian but had been transformed on contact with the Hurrian people. And I could find out that it was a melody. It took me about 20 years to translate.”

So what does the earliest musical composition tell us about the people who lived at that time? From Dumbrill’s translations, he believes they had catalogues of songs for occasions of all sorts and moods, not just hymns for religious events.

One song details a bar girl selling beer to her clients, but the tablet known as H6 details a more sober story.

“It’s about a young girl who cannot have any children; she thinks that the reason is because she misbehaved in some way, which is not mentioned,” Dumbrill said. “And from what we can understand of the text, which is quite limited, she goes at night to pray to the goddess Nigal, who was the goddess of the moon. She brings a little pot of tin with sesame seeds or sesame oil in it, which she offers to the goddess, and that’s all we know about the text.”

View image of H6 was the beginning of Syria’s incomparable musical heritage (Credit: Credit: Leila Molana-Allen)

An ancient musical workshop

But Syria did not produce only the earliest melody. Over time, a rich array of musical instruments on which to play them also formed across the region, such as the lyre, a stringed musical instrument with a yoke and a crossbar, and lutes, which evolved into the modern Arabian oud, a teardrop-shaped plucked string instrument that produces one of the most evocative sounds in the region.

At Mari, an Early Bronze Age city-state on the banks of the Euphrates river in eastern modern-day Syria, researchers in the 20th Century uncovered a number of records detailing the musical instrument-making business of the time.

“There in the palace [at Mari] we discovered a huge number of tablets which were mainly letters and receipts of material from artisans who were requesting leather, raw hide, wood, gold and silver for making instruments,” Dumbrill said. “Therefore we have a very good idea about the instruments that were made about 4,000 years ago. We knew the names of the artisans, we knew the type of instruments they made. They were already influenced by instruments which were not Syrian,” he added, citing the Iranian parahshitum as an example, a type of lyre that became very popular among the girls of the harem at Mari.

Production of musical instruments continued to flourish in Syria over the centuries, and many are preserved in collections open to visitors today.

View image of The Debbané Palace in Saida, Lebanon, houses a rich collection of Ottoman-era musical instruments (Credit: Credit: Leila Molana-Allen)

At the Debbané Palace in the Lebanese coastal city of Saida, for example, a collection of Ottoman-era musical instruments, dating from around the 19th Century, gives visitors an insight into the traditions present across both Lebanon and Syria before the formation of the modern states. Pieces from Syria include ouds and bouzouks (a small lute with a long, slim arm) inlaid with wood and ivory.

“People [visiting] ask, why are there so many musical instruments?” said Ghassan Dimassy, a guide at the Debbané Palace. “We tell them that this is an Ottoman house and the women used to sit and sing.” He mimicked the women playing a musical instrument and the men lying back and relaxing; here, music was the essential backdrop to any leisure occasion.

A music in exile

Last year, Syrian authorities launched a bid to have Aleppo, Syria’s second city, added to Unesco's Creative Cities Network as a ‘City of Music’ to commemorate its heritage. During the 17th Century, Aleppo was renowned for its muwashshah, a form of music combined with lyrics from Andalusian poetry, classical Arabic poetry, or, later on, Syrian or Egyptian conversational Arabic. Muwashshah are performed by a band playing the oud and qanun (a horizontal board with strings plucked to produce a haunting sound like trickling water), as well as the kamanja (a violin-like instrument), a darabukkah (drum), and a daf (tambourine). The form thrived in the city, where it was embraced by both Muslim and Christian populations.

However, significant efforts to preserve Syria’s musical traditions are now also found outside this country, which has entered its eighth year of conflict and where civilians have in large part been forced to focus attention on survival rather than exploring their cultural heritage. Some Syrian youth are making the best of a difficult situation and are bringing Syria's rich musical history into the limelight.

View image of The poetic lyrics of muwashshah music are often accompanied by traditional musical instruments (Credit: Credit: Leila Molana-Allen)

Long an incubator of creative talent, Beirut has become a crucible for preserving Syrian musical heritage. Me'zaf, an organisation founded in the Lebanese capital in 2015, aims to innovate, promote and preserve authentic music from not just Syria, but the Levantine region as a whole, showing how the Middle East’s rich musical traditions precede the modern nation-state borders introduced in the 20th Century.

“A lot of forms were created in Damascus or Aleppo and were taken to Cairo, then forms were created in Cairo and performed in the Levant,” explained Ghassan Sahhab, a Me'zaf leader and Lebanese musicology teacher, composer and qanun player. “We have a rich culture and we have to appreciate it and know our history in order to continue. At the moment, it’s a case of preserving heritage and culture.”

Another musical troupe that formed in Beirut is Assa'aleek, which consists of five Syrians and a Norwegian. The band’s name means ‘the ragamuffins’ or ‘the vagabonds’ in Arabic, and refers to a group of self-proclaimed Robin Hood-type characters who lived during the pre-Islamic era in the Arabian Gulf and tried to change the ways of the ruling class.

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“We are similar to the Assa'aleek: we were forced out of our communities and homeland for many reasons,” said Abodi Jatal, percussion player in Assa'aleek.

“It is important to preserve ancient Syrian music because this is our identity, it is history and it is civilisation, after all. This is what we have. This is what we are,” said Assa'aleek vocalist Mona Al Merstany. “It’s not just about a normal country – it’s one of the most ancient countries. It is important to show such things because all people have the right to see beauty.”

It is important to preserve ancient Syrian music because this is our identity

They see music as a way of fighting the injustices faced on a daily basis by people in the region.

“Our lyrics and songs, this is what they are built on,” Jatal said. “We wanted to fight against bad habits, such as harassment against women, and we saw that this is really similar to what the Assa'aleek did, so that’s why we used the name.”

As well as new songs, the band has been performing Syrian folk music since 2013, bringing music from across Syria’s diverse landscapes and communities to audiences in Lebanon.

Syrian music heritage has come a long way since the melody found on the clay tablets at Ugarit. Today, bands such as Assa'aleek are reinventing the definition of Syrian music, bringing it to new audiences.

View image of Over time, a rich array of musical instruments formed across what is now Syria (Credit: Credit: Leila Molana-Allen)

Meanwhile, they are developing the sounds that museoarchaeologists of the future might one day find, stored on computers, in files or drawers, in Aleppo, Damascus or Beirut, or even Paris, London or Berlin.

Al Merstany sums it up well: “When someone asks me what is Syria, this is what I have to say: the music, the art.”

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theupstartsparty · 6 years ago

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Chapter 1: Mark

Most travelers from Illan Dorai were known to be snobbish, pretentious bastards. Normally, this was expressed quietly as they wrinkled their noses at clothing with unsatisfactory cuts and visibly clutched handbags on the rare occasion they passed through the residential neighborhoods. However, the Doraien ambassador to Everspring took the cake when, during the Bilarose Troupe’s audition for the Midsummer Arts Festival, the elven man stood up from his seat in the front row and pronounced the troupe’s routine to be “boorish and contrived” in front of the adjudicating Arts Council, adding that he had better things to be doing that day before whipping his emerald colored robes out of the room.

The ambassador’s ill temperament was well known by the Everspring council, and had only succeeded in embarrassing the Bilarose troupe before they were told that they were welcome to play the Upper Exis Theater for the festival. However, the incident had led Rinwald to suggest that perhaps the troupe soon pay a visit to Illan Dorai. The ambassador had a taste for the finer things in life; surely it would pay well to take a look inside his house. So that evening the bardic troupe packed their black-crusted pocket mirrors and tarnished lockpick sets along with the rest of their travelling supplies and hitched up their wagon to begin their trip to Illan Dorei.

The trip there followed the Feshun River inland for about a week through the Verdant Expanse. It was as uneventful as they could have hoped, having only a brief skirmish with a school of carnivorous mudskippers along the way. Each night, the two young Marquesian halflings Ashe and Sashem worked on their acro dance routine, playing off each other in a manner that was expected of siblings. Mark, Kim, and Mordecai, two half elves and a dwarf respectively, challenged each other to some friendly musical duels (magic allowed, but only between each other). The tabaxi strongwoman Coil showed off her prowess and nearly managed to lift the wagon itself, to the delight of some and the panic of others, and the graying human Rinwald regaled them with tales of his days as a delinquent as the impish acrobats diligently took notes.

The plan for Illan Dorai was the typical one. They would pose as the traveling performance troupe that they were and offer to play a few taverns a week for a place to stay. Ashe, Sashem, and Mordecai would stake out the ambassador’s house to determine security and potential targets. Rinwald would formulate a plan of entry and escape with Kim and Coil. Meanwhile, Mark would visit the more ramshackle areas of town. Usually, he would find an older woman, a tavern owner, or a band of laborers that were well known in the community, and charm them into dinner and conversation. The half elf’s quiet but earnest demeanor endeared him to many, and it tended to be nearly effortless to work out how the slum community’s underlying economy worked. More importantly, he could learn how to effectively and efficiently redistribute any large sum of gold before local authorities worked out a connection to a high profile robbery elsewhere in the city.

Illan Dorai, the elvish capital of the region, was a city nigh obsessed with appearances, and having the appearance of a half elf made the process a bit more difficult for Mark than he was used to. However, after a few days of searching, he found a woman in her forties who used her home as a recovery haven for blue-lipped Sannish addicts. Her insight on the community proved profound and invaluable, and he thanked her for her time with a silver piece in her hand and gold piece under her couch. He then returned to the tavern just in time to bring out his lute for their evening performance.

The ambassador’s mansion was standard of Illan Dorai, built of a material somewhere between stone and lumber, with an elegant facade of pillars growing skyward until they formed a canopy of a rooftop. Large windows were set in gaps between the frame of the house, allowing for a panoramic view of the Doraien Falls to the left and the city below. In the Bilarose troupe’s case, it allowed for an extensive view inside the house. The only obvious entrance was the front door, which was guarded by a vigilant rotating watch.

Mordecai had spied a trapdoor on the rooftop during the stakeout, which (he’d signed excitedly) would give him the opportunity to use the grappling hook they had found at the gnomish establishment in Athelwick. Ashe and Sashem had noted a kitchen well-stocked with silverware, and there appeared to be plenty of valuables used as decoration throughout the house. A room on the second floor was shut with an enticing lock, which tempted Mark and Sashem in particular. Rinwald believed that time was of the essence, to their disappointment, and opted to just take the dinnerware and the luxurious ornamentation.

The acrobatic siblings and Mordecai were to scale the house unseen, entering from the trapdoor on the roof. A few servants had been spotted on the grounds after hours, so Mark and Kim were to keep a lookout from the trees on either side of the house to keep in contact with those inside the house. Rinwald and Coil would be at the stables a few blocks down, ready to hitch up the horses at a moment’s notice should it all turn sideways.

So that was how Mark found himself the next evening, uncomfortably scrunched up against an overgrown oak which gripped tight to the mansion. It was a rare cool summer evening in Illan Dorai, though his Odessloi clothing kept him warmer than some of his more fair-weathered compatriots.

Kim’s Message tickled his inner ear. “Hey, they got the trapdoor open. I see Ashe heading downstairs to the ground floor, no one else. How about you?”

His eyes swept the mansion. There were six guards on the veranda, two of them near the door, who were seemingly unaware of the situation inside. His position from the tree allowed him to see into the parlor and the foyer on the first floor and the east wing hallway and bedroom on the second floor. And there. A flicker of movement from the dwarven man, moving down the stairwell in the middle.

He Messaged back, “Mordecai’s heading down. I haven’t seen Sashem, which means she’s either getting very good at this or she’s breaking into that room.”

“Let’s hope it’s the former, shall we?”

Five minutes passed in silence as the troupe put their faith in each other to pull off the caper. Then eight minutes. Then ten.

“What is taking them so long?” came a sudden spell from Kim. “In and out. My spell’s not hitting anyone. Can you try?”

Mark put his thumb and forefinger together underneath his chin and straightened out the rest of his hand in the familiar motion of the spell, forming a string of deep purple light.

“Ashe, how-”

Kim’s Message cut across. “Hey, is that a yes or a no?”

Mark rolled his eyes. “It’s a yes. I was just doing it,”

“You’re supposed to say ‘copy’ or something,”

“I can’t talk to both of you at the same time, you know,” The dark-haired half elf could practically hear his friend huff in irritation, but no other Message came through. He began the spell again,

“Ashe, how are you doing in there?”

The older sibling’s reply came back almost instantaneously in a light Marquesian accent. “So, yes, we have a small issue. We did not see a child earlier. The child currently sees us. Sashem is trying bribery.”

The Message cut out just as an ear-piercing shriek rang throughout the area. The guards on the veranda, now alert, turned inward towards the sound and drew their weapons.

“They ran into a kid. Time to leave,” he sent Kim. She cursed, then sent back, “Will you do the distraction or shall I?”

A few magically amplified notes of a dwarvish lullaby played on a fiddle, and a group of guards that had been on the east staircase of the foyer fell to the floor. Probably about half, Mark guessed, letting out a low whistle.

“I can manage. I wonder how much these windows cost?”

The half elf swung himself around the trunk of the oak and flipped onto a branch below with youthful agility, putting the tree between himself and the mansion. He brought his lute forward from his back, dusted his fingers in fine mica from a pouch at his hip, and aimed a Shatter spell at the massive windows. The lute emitted a visible discordant shock wave, directly colliding with its target, and the window burst outward into a mosaic of shrapnel, daggers of glass impaling themselves on the tree and the lawn below. Startled yells came from inside the mansion, and Mark allowed himself a small satisfied smile.

He flung the lute back behind him and leapt down the tree, from branch to oversized branch until his feet hit the soft, firm ground. He glanced quickly at the mansion for any sign of his compatriots. There was scuffling inside, then some groaning as the guards who had been knocked out began to come to. As that happened, three small figures carrying full sacks barreled out from the trapdoor on the top of the mansion and jumped off from the rooftop, their fall slowing gradually as they drew closer to the ground. Kim’s Message came in, hurried but controlled.“Mark, do you see them? I’m down the street ahead of you. I sent a message to Rinwald-- they’re getting ready to blow this place.”

“Yeah, they just hit the ground. We’re going to start running. See you in a minute.” The three other troupe members reached the base of the tree, and Mark stepped out from behind the tree to run alongside them. A hint of steel reflected the beams of the moon as Ashe jumped and instinctively drew a dagger from his hip.

“Nine Hells, you startled me!” Ashe hissed, resheathing the blade.

“What happened in there? What was with the kid?” Mark asked, then winced as a crossbow bolt nicked a pointed ear. Ah fuck, they’d been seen.

Sashem’s animated voice piped up from his left. “So listen, before you cast any judgements here, I have to say that I did wait until we finished our job,”

Her older brother’s irritated reply came from his right. “She went to that locked room we saw earlier,”

“After getting the kitchen! We went down to the kitchen and raided it and we were ahead of schedule and ready to leave. And so I went back up to that second floor and decided to see if I could quickly break into that room.”

Hooves clattered on the stone behind them, and the group turned to see a group of the ambassador’s guards, faintly illuminated by the moonlight, making their way towards the troupe on horseback. Mordecai grabbed Ashe’s hand and led him down an alley to the right, and Mark led Sashem to the left. She did not take a breath as she continued,

“I was in front of the door and had just picked the lock and I turned around and suddenly there was this kid standing right behind me! I don’t know how elves age but he looked like a toddler, at least. Maybe he was my age, though,”

The guards seemed to have split up as well, and shouts came from behind, gaining on them. He saw a house up ahead, covered in a wall of ivy and creeping vines, and gestured towards it. The pair scrambled up the vines and immediately flattened themselves on the roof as a volley of arrows shot upwards at them, none of them hitting their mark.

“Shit!” various people chorused. Mark held up a finger to Sashem, putting her story on hold as he Messaged Kim.

“We’re being chased, are trying to lose them. I have Sashem. The others split off.”

A moment passed before she replied, “Be safe. Let’s try not to have them chase us out of the city.”

Mark nodded to Sashem to continue, and they began running down the roof ridge.

“So anyway, I see this kid and I freeze up. Then I remembered that I still have that chocolate croissant from the other day. And I figured it would buy us some time as we left. So I give the kid the croissant and guess what?”

They jumped between rooftops with practiced ease, the night air cooling them down as sweat beads formed on their foreheads. They were outpacing the guards at this rate, forcing them into dead ends and blocked roads.

“Guess fucking what? It turned out that he was allergic to it. As soon as I gave it to him, his entire hand started swelling up! So he started making a big deal out of it, and next thing I know Ashe is pulling me by the collar. Dropped my croissant too, by the way,”

“How sad,” Mark said, scanning the area to make sure the coast was clear before hopping down a pile of crates and startling a family of rats surrounding an indistinguishable blob; what they had been eating, he did not want to think about.

“It was!” she squeaked indignantly, nimbly landing next to him. The crates provided enough cover for the two of them to duck down behind, and they did so without giving Mark time to register the puddle that he knelt in, prompting a soft sound of disgust from the back of his throat. They caught their breath and waited for a few tense minutes behind the crates until the bard felt confident that the immediate danger had passed.

Sashem broke the silence. “Are we still meeting them at the stables?”

Mark shrugged. “Probably. I think I’m out of range to contact Rinwald, but I can give it a shot.” His fingers touched as his hand formed the familiar motion of the spell, but even as he sent the Message he could tell that it could not find its recipient.

“No response, but now that we have those guys off our backs we should be able to make our way back there without being seen. I don’t know if the guards will be out looking for us near the fucker’s place, but we should assume that they are and try not to draw attention to ourselves as we go.”

His dark-skinned companion nodded in agreement, and so the two stepped gingerly out of the alleyway back onto the street, keeping to the shadows and avoiding the patrolling Verdant Guard. Perhaps it was the chill of the summer night, or the scent of linden on the breeze, or the stiff-necked guards on every corner, or a combination of the three that struck him as familiar. Images of Odessloe with its sharp needle towers came to mind, along with echoes of his former classmates’ laughter and the sharp, self-assured look of his old compatriot. Better memories than he was used to from his time in the city. Before it all went to shit.

Sashem was tapping his forearm urgently, saying something. He had to push the thought away, stay in the moment. He shook his head to clear it.

“Sorry, what?”

“Don’t you hear that?” Sashem asked, pointing down the thoroughfare ahead. The clattering of wagon wheels on stone was growing louder with every second. As he listened for a few seconds more Mark swore that he heard the rumbling of a stampede behind it. A number of Verdant Guards had turned their attention towards the sound as well, and were jogging forward to investigate. Shouts began to be heard down the street.

“How much do you want to bet that that’s our ride?” the half elf grinned, looking down at his younger friend.

Sashem giggled in response. “You’re not getting any of my money today, you dick,”

Kim’s voice suddenly broadcasted itself in Mark’s ear, “Can you hear me now?”

“Subtlety’s out, then. I’m up ahead,”

“Get ready to jump on the wagon. We’re not stopping,”

Mark got into position as the wagon came in sight. Various curses, notes, and bolts were thrown with reckless abandon by the Bilarose troupe and a very large group of armored guards and residential security alike chasing after them on horseback.

“We’re jumping on. Get ready,” The pair of them braced themselves, Sashem adjusting the brown sack on her back. The wagon came closer, and Mark saw Rinwald and Coil hanging off the side of the frame, arms outstretched towards the street. Mordecai had the reins and, as soon as the cart closed the distance of the two on the street, slowed the wagon down slightly. The two sprinted towards the carts and leapt, each grasping a hand on the side of the cart. The wagon wheels rattled beneath Mark. For an instant he saw himself fall off the side of the vehicle and visions of mangled limbs flashed in his mind. And then Coil’s muscular, leopard-spotted arm yanked him into the wagon, and the moment passed.

The wagon rocked precariously as Mordecai turned sharply down to the main avenue, and the inhabitants of the vehicle struggled to maintain their footing as bags and boxes slid across the floor.

“Hey, watch your driving!” Ashe yelled toward the front. Without turning around the dwarf raised his right arm with his middle finger extended. Mark steadied himself on a wooden side, then turned to Rinwald, who was helping Sashem to her feet.

“We’re having a bit of an issue shaking the guards, I see,” the black-haired youth noted. Three more crossbow bolts tore through the fabric of the wagon covering, and in response, Kim, who stood at the back of the wagon, clapped her hands together, and a wave of thunder sounded from behind them, throwing a few guards from their horses and cracking and uplifting the street directly behind the wagon. Ashe took out a blue stone and whispered a few words, then brushed the stone over the tears in the fabric to Mend them.

“They’re a resilient group. It turns out elves don’t fall asleep too easily,” Rinwald replied, eyebrows betraying the worry his otherwise calm demeanor hid.

“I could have told you that,” Kim yelled over her shoulder, narrowly avoiding a bolt to the chest in the process. She tucked a lock of blonde hair behind her slightly pointed ear, then began preparing another spell.

Rinwald continued, “There’s only been a few that have been able to be charmed, and they weren’t the important ones, I’m afraid. This chase may lead outside the city. I should be able to buy us a minute at the front gates with a Hypnotic Pattern, but I think our best course of action is splitting up and confusing our friends back there and lightening the load on the horses. One or two people take the wagon, and the rest split off into two other directions”

“Wait, what if someone gets hurt?” Ashe asked, turning away from the canvas to voice his concern.

“Or caught?” Sashem added, “I’m too young to go to jail,”

Mark thought a moment, evaluating their options. The plan was not a bad one, but it wasn’t necessarily good. But no other plan was coming to mind that would keep everyone out of trouble. If only his Invisibility spell could extend to everyone else. “I can take the wagon. I can heal myself, and if something happens, I can let you know with a Sending. We should have someone who can communicate long-distance in every group in case we need to talk to each other,”

Kim ducked down behind the back hatch, clutching her arm which had a bolt sticking through it. Rinwald and Mark both knelt down in front of her, working together to remove the bolt and weave magic around the area to stop the bleeding. Blood trickled from where she bit her lip as the bolt was pulled through her bicep, and she said, “I can go with Mordecai and Coil, and Rinwald can go with the kids. Mark, are you sure you’re okay alone?”

“As long as you’re okay transporting stolen goods. I’ll go south to throw them off your trails and take the long way back to Everspring,” He finished his Healing Word, and she nodded her thanks.

Rinwald put a firm hand on Mark’s shoulder and looked him in the eye. “Be safe,” the older man said, and Mark felt a surge of confidence flow through him. Rinwald was trusting him to make it back, and he was not about to betray that trust. They stood up as the main gate came into view. Mark made his way to the driver’s seat, sliding next to Mordecai.

“Did you catch all of that?” The dwarf nodded in confirmation, and offered Mark the reins. The half-elf took them, and Mordecai gave him a quick squeeze before heading towards the back. The wagon was fast approaching the gate.

“Ready when you are!” Mark called.

The guards at the front gate were beginning to close the portcullis. With a flick of the reins Mark urged the horses to speed up. They would make it easily, probably with about half of their pursuers as well. The wagon wheels clattered as they hit the bridge leading up to the gate. A few guards made a desperate attempt to stop the cart by stepping out in front of it, but with a quick Suggestion which, thank the gods, worked on these guards, Mark was able to clear the way for the troupe’s vehicle to exit the city.

“Now!” Rinwald yelled as soon as they reached the end of the bridge. Mark slowed the cart down so that the rest of his troupe could disembark. He spared a moment to look back as the last person on board, Kim, began to dismount. She gave him a dramatic salute with a half-cocked smile as the kaleidoscope of a Hypnotic Pattern flashed behind her, and he returned the gesture. She hopped off, and Mark immediately snapped the reins, starting the wagon forward once more.

To his satisfaction, the plan went off as well as he could have hoped. The group of twenty or so guards followed the wagon south into the Verdant Expanse, where he was able to lose the crowd within the hour. Eventually, he was able to slow the horses down to a comfortable trot, and make his way down the Viburnum Trail. The path through the Viburnum Waters added a day to the trip, a fuzzy memory told him, so he opted to go right at the fork and pass through the town of Phandolin. There, he could restock on food and get some proper rest in two to three days time. And so he settled into the drivers seat for the long journey ahead.

#the upstarts #the upstarts story #dnd #dungeons and dragons #writing #taldorei campaign

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fatcowboys · 8 years ago

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A16, 24, B13, 14, C1, D1, F11, G1, J1, and L9!! for sierra :3c

ty!!!! gonna put this under a readmore bc its long as hell but its good shit

A16: Does your OC have to go through their own trials to learn a lesson, or do they listen and learn from observation and lecture? I.e., does your OC listen when someone tries to tell them the importance of budgeting, or do they have to go experience what happens if you don’t budget first?she deffo has to learn herself lmao. theres a select group of people she’d listen to but 90% of the time she’s stubborn and would have to learn the hard way lmao

A24: What are some of your OC’s biggest personal obstacles? This could be emotional, physical, social… Are they aware of it? Are they trying to overcome it?hmmm probably social? she’s very competent socially and makes friends easily but struggles actually trusting people and would rather do stuff herself first off. its a combination of that and the fact that she tends to isolate herself when things go wrong or get bad even in a situation where having people to help would make things way easier.

B13: Do they have a large or small group of friends?large! she considers her whole crew her friends

B14: Do they have people they are genuinely honest with about themselves?its a pretty small group, because of the previously mentioned trust issues. she’s mostly honest with people typically, she doesn’t often lie about herself, but there’s only a few that she’s totally genuinly honest with

C1: Does your OC have a moral code? If not, how do they base their actions? If so, where does it come from, and how seriously do they take it?she has a rough moral code yeah. she avoids killing innocents whenever possible and overall her pirate group tries to target the rich and powerful, not the poor, and make sure the people they steal from deserve it and can handle it lmao. she’s not above killing, stealing etc but doesn’t do it senselessly. she takes it pretty seriously and her crew has a reputation for following these guidelines.

D1: How religious is your OC? What do they practice, if anything? If they don’t associate with any religion, what do they think of religion in general?hmmm i actually haven’t thought much about religion lmao. she definitely wasn’t raised religious and probably doesn’t practice it. she doesn’t typically think about the world in such a large sense, so she’s doesn’t really feel strongly one way or another. she’s probably kinda nuetral towards it? this is subject to change tho bc now im curious and might spend some time figuring this out lmao

F11: What are some of their favorite things to do for recreation? How did they get into it? What part of it do they like the most?music! she loooves music and if she’s not steering the ship she’s probably chilling on deck playing her guitar or the lute. she was raised with music because her mother was an entertainer and taught her and her brother to play the accordion, lute, sing, and various percussion instruments so she has a personal connection to it as well. she just loves the feeling she gets while playing? especially how some songs take her back to her memories with her family before things kinda went to shit

she also obvs loves sailing and the ocean in general as well. she loves to sail and explore and just be on the water and feel free. she feels reallly relaxed when she swims. she’s liked swimming since she was young and raised in a harbor town, but really got into it when her troupe traveled by boat for a while, and she took the opportunity to learn what she could and absolutely loooved it.

G1: Is your OC close to their family?yes! to parts at least. she was very close to her mother and brother when she was young. she still feels very close to her mother, but they haven’t seen each other for a while since they’re both in hiding from their father (who she is not close with and realllly hates lmao). her family was v important to her when she was young tho, and she has kind of a found family now but still likes her original fam

J1: Where does your OC stand most politically? What would they align with most?she kinda hates nobles and people like that and in general the rich who think they’re better than the working class because she was raised on the streets. so idk an exact way to describe it but basically she supports the working class and hates asshole nobles lmao

L9: How did you come up with your OC?i just. fuckin love pirates man and i love bards so like. pirate bard lets fuckin do it and now i love her a Lot (which is partially bc we made her and mimi friends so it was fun to use her all the time and ??? i lvoe them)

thank you!!!! hell yeah hell yeah

#asks #bards #oc: sierra #my giiiiirl i love her tbh #i rlly want to do some writing w her which i havent written in a v long time but i might? idk

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firewarrior117 · 8 years ago

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The Witch and the Tambourine, Part 4

Part 4 of the Caravaneer’s journey across Vitaria. There travels have taken them to the lands of Despoire, where Fiona, Vayle, and Akimoto are known to be quite infamous amongst the supporters of the Republic’s Severus Braxton. They continue there performances with the Luminous Stars Caravan troupe, unaware of the dangers that might shortly follow them.

(Castle Dragon-claw, Severus’s quarters)

Severus: *Drinking Tea* Hm...This day has been quite relaxing. Not a stressful moment in the kingdom this day...

Wyrmkin maid: More tea, M’lord?

Severus: Yes! poor it in! *Smirks as the maid poors the tea in his cup* Aaaaah...Hm...A decent cup...though it could be better...

*The Guards from the red market come charging into the room!*

Republic Soldier: LORD SEVERUS!!! *Pant*...*Pant*...Lor-...Lord Severus!

Severus: Uuugh! Dammit! What have I told you fools about bothering me? Can’t you see I am busy?!

Republic Soldier2: *Pant*...*Pant*...*Phew!*...*Despoire Salute!*...Lord Severus! Akimoto Infernus and two of his companions have been sighted in the Red market!

Severus: *!* Akimoto Infernus?! Uuugh...So much for a relaxing day...That fool has some nerve traveling into our borders! What was he doing? Who were the companions?

Republic Soldier: It was the Seeress and the White Witch, my lord! They were traveling with a band of Caravaneers last we saw...

Republic Soldier2: They just left the Red market and are currently heading down to the path near the capital!

Severus: Near the Capital?! Caravaneers aren’t allowed in the capital! Why in blazes would they be heading here?

Republic Soldier: M-Maybe they’re spies, my lord! trying to sneak in and raise a rebellion of some kind!

Severus: Don’t be ridiculous! As if a bunch of skirt twirling, tambourine playing Myrmidons would be spies for the Empire...They’d sooner sing around a fire and dance under the full moon than sneak in and cause an uprising...

*Severus takes a sip of his Tea, thinking for a moment...*

Severus: ...Then again...The Infernus clan is traveling with them...If they WERE to try and storm the gate, that DEMON would no doubt cut down our soldiers in one strike...Hmmmm...Maybe we should deal with them while we can...

Republic Soldier2: *Salute!* What are your orders, My Lord?

Severus: We will have our scouts watch for where they camp tonight...Then, when they are all settled, dancing around there little bonfire and singing merry little songs...I’ll unleash my new...Pet...to deal with them! Hmhmhmhmhm...

Republic Soldier: *!* M...My lord...Y-you don’t mean...?

Severus: Yes! THAT ONE!

Republic Soldier2: ...*Gulp!*...A...A-as you command, my lord...

Severus: Hmhmhahahaha...I want see its carnage for myself when it happens...You’d best prepare yourself, Infernus! No song or dance will save from this creature’s fury...*Sips tea menacingly*...Hmhmhmhmhahahahahaaaa...

*A performance by the luminous stars occurs within a town near the capital, the sisters singing a humorous song with Fiona Providing a dance routine along with it*

Sarisa: The knight did raise his blade the sky~! Casting it down into Ogma’s eye~!

Fareeha: And thus Ogma the pie thief’s rain was no moooore~!

Both sisters: As his his ugly old head fell down into the ocean floooooooor~....

Fiona: *Jingles her tambourine, twirling with the sisters and they all strike various poses!*

*The Town errupts in laughter and cheer, clapping and throwing drakes to the performers as the three girls bow to the audience!*

Vayle: Hahahaha! Splendid! Bravo!

Akimoto:...Okay, Fiona totally just struck a JoJo pose!

Tulio: Ha! I’m not sure what a “JoJo” is, but I like it! *Clapping for his performers!*

*after the performance, the Caravan prepares itself down the road once more, the sun setting upon the lands of Despoire!*

Rosalita: *decorating Fiona’s hair into a braid with flowers holding it in place!* This is a style I usually like to do in the spring and summer times...A Bandana is all well and good, but sometimes even the most beautiful of flowers should bloom on stage once in a while!

Fiona: Really? *Red Face!* that’s kind of you to say...

Rosalita: You really are a beautiful young girl, Little sister! you should make yourself stand out more!

Vayle: That’s what I tell her! But the poor girl is so shy when it comes to social interaction. When she’s not reading books, she’s usually just collecting alchemy ingredients in the forest. I really do need to get her into social situations more.

Rosalita: Hahaha! Aren’t we all at that age? She hasn’t even grown to her prime yet, and I can already tell, she’s going to be a Goddess amongst maidens! That charming sparkle in her eye, the extravagant shine in her hair...You are going to break hearts, my dear! *Finishes her hair!* And there we are! See for yourself!

Fiona: *Looks in the mirror!* *!* Oh, wow! That’s so pretty! I love it! It’s so beautiful!

Rosalita: Hmhmhmhm! I knew you would! That look really suits you, Little sister!

Vayle: Oh my, that is fascinating! I should try that on my designs some time...

Rosalita: The Braid and flowers were a favorite of Esmeralda’s, too! She would always wear her hair that way during the warm days of Vitaria...Hm...Her and Tulio were such good friends...He was absolutely devastated when he got the news of her death...

Fiona: *Her smile turning into a curious expression of sadness* Hmmm...Yeah...She was a very nice woman...How long did you and Tulio know her?

Rosalita: Since we were children. Those two were an inseparable pair when we were younger...They were more like siblings than friends. Esmeralda was the one who introduced me to Tulio in the first place! She saw something in both of us that would have us be bound for the rest of our lives! And she was right...I don’t know where I’d be without Tulio in my life...He’s such an upbeat and optimistic man! The way he brings a smile to anyone’s face is enough for him to become friends with everyone we meet in our travels! Hmhmhmhm...I’m proud to be the wife of such a wonderful man...

Fiona: Hehehehe! Esmeralda was such a wonderful woman. It’s hard to believe how she’s changed so many lives...

Vayle: ...*Smiles*...Yes... I would have loved to have met her...

*The Caravans come to a halt suddenly*

Rosalita: Oh dear...What now?

Corina: Oh, blast it all...Gerardo! You didn’t get us lost again, did you?!

Gerardo: GERARDO NEVER GETS US LOST! I just not read map properly! We should be in port black-heart in no time!

Corina: Yes...Port Blackheart...Which is WEST, Gerardo! You were leading us NORTH! No wonder I can see the capital from here!

Gerardo: CUT GERARDO THE SLACK! He just have one of too many of the drinks before we left last town. Also, I think Gerardo’s Compass might be breaking, as well!

Miguel: *facepalm* Oh, Gerardo...

Akimoto: Everyone calm down! It’s starting to get dark, anyway...Might not be a bad time to rest up for the night...

Tulio: Sir Akimoto is right. Let us set up camp someplace safe for now. I think the map says there is a campsite not too far this way...

Gerardo: Yes! Yes! Gerardo sleep like baby, THEN navigate us to port!

Corina: Or...How about CORINA drives us to the port tomorrow, yeah?

Gerardo: ...*Shrug!*...That work just as well...

*The Caravans Camp within a large opening in the middle of the woods, the bonfire illuminating the entire camp*

Miguel: *playing his Lute as the sisters dance with there Tambourines!* There we go, girls! Let the rhythm do the dancing for you!

Akimoto: *Drinks from water Canteen* Huh...Is there a day you guys DON’T perform?

Tulio: Hahaha! Usually only when we’re on the road or sleeping. We gotta keep ourselves in shape and ready to bring happiness to the people at all times! That’s the life of a caravaneer, my friend...*Takes a swig of wine*...Heh...Now, are you sure you’re not interested in ether of my daughters? *wink!* I think Fareeha might be your type!

Akimoto: *Glare!* for the LAST TIME, old man! I’m not interested in ether of them!

Tulio: HAHAHAHA! Again! I jest, my friend! I only Jest! *Offers him wine!* Would you like some? Wild-berry Wine! it’s a delicacy in Despoire...

Akimoto: No thanks...I don’t drink...

Fiona: *Reading a magic tome, practicing levitation on a teapot!* ...Focus...Focus...

*The Teapot lifts 2 ft. into the air as Fiona focuses her magic into it!*

Tulio: *!* W-woah! What? Is that Teapot flying?!

Vayle: Good job, Fiona! Now try gently setting it down back on the platter...

Fiona: Right! *Gently starts to make it descend as she concentrates on the plate!*

Tulio: Aaaaah! That’s right! Little sister is a scholar of the arcane arts, yeah?

Akimoto: Yep! She’s been practicing it since she was little! That’s one of her big dreams when she’s older...she wants to master magic and become a powerful Sorcerer like her parents were.

Tulio: Hehehe! She’s a big ambition for it, eh? Learning these arts must be quite important to her...

Akimoto: More than anything. When we found her, she lived in a giant hollow tree near white reef. Hehehe...Whole tree was FULL of books, Scrolls, artifacts...She’s mostly self-taught, but Vayle and Gramps have tried to help her the best they can. We try to find her some new tomes, too! Help her stay in touch with her studies...

Tulio: Hahaha...That’s very kind! You’ve certainly been taking good care of Fiona, haven’t you?

Vayle: Oh! Of course! We all love her dearly! She’s a wonderful girl, and the way people treat her because of her curse is completely unfair...

Tulio: ...Her...Curse...?

Akimoto: Er, well, it’s not much of a curse, more that it’s a burden to her...

Fiona: *Sigh* Aki, just let me explain it...You See-...

*two despoire scouts peak from a higher ground near the camp*

Republic Scout: *Pulls phone from pouch*...Lord Severus...the Caravaneers have been sighted, there guard is down...Awaiting your command...

*in a small encampment not too far from them...*

Severus: Excellent...Keep watch for movement...we shall ready the beast for its attack...*Turns to his other soldiers!* OPEN THE GATE!

Republic Soldier: W-What?! OPEN IT?! M-my lord, are you mad?! What if it pounces and attempts to take your li-?!

Severus: I Said...OPEN THE GATE!

*The Soldiers panic as they release the locks on the gate, the beast growling and grunting with each lock undone...*

Severus: Hahahahaha! Yes! That’s it! Release it!

*The Final locks break, the Gates flying open as two glowing Yellow eyes stare down Severus...A large, Lion like paw emerges from the shadows, then the rest of the beast starts to reveal itself, shadowed by the moonlight as it growls and glares at Severus*

Severus: Peace, Monster...I am not your target! THIS is your target...*Pulls a ripped sword belt that used to belong to Akimoto, throwing it down in front of the monster*

*The Beast begins to sniff at it, pawing at it as it’s glowing eyes than take its gaze beyond Severus as it growls with fury!*

Severus: That is the scent of a DEMON who opposes Despoire! I want you track it, and DESTROY THE SOURCE! *Points* NOW GO! FOLLOW THE SCENT! KILL THE DEMON! AND ANYONE WHO STANDS IN YOUR WAY!

*The Monster roars loudly, A Hissing sound from behind it as it then spreads its wings and dashes off toward the scent!*

Severus: Hahahahaha! HAHAHAHAHAHAAAAA!

*Back at the Caravan...*

Kaseem: *Hears roaring in the distance*...What the hell was that?

Valmiro: Probably just some wolves...

Kaseem: I don’t recall wolves making noises like that...

Fiona: -And ever since, I have been forced to wear these Shackles...Forced to hold her back, hoping that as I continue to study the Arcane arts...I’ll find some way to break her out of my body...make it so the one in my body is just ME, and not her...

Tulio: Oh...Little Sister...I...I am so sorry! I did not know such a burden was afflicted upon you! I wish there was something I could do to help you...

Fiona: I appreciate you saying that...But I think the answer lies deep within the secrets of the Arcane arts! Arts that would horribly mutate a human and alter there minds... Luckily, I am a Drow! So hopefully when I DO find the answer! I can use the spell without any horrible side-effects...

Arcana: (It exists...I know it does...I want to be free of you as much you want to free of me! We must keep finding the answer!)

Rosalita: Well, if there IS anything we can do to help you find a way to free yourself from this, Say it!

Akimoto: That goes for all of us in the tower as well! You know we got your back, Fiona! We won’t let Arcana possess you!

Vayle: Agreed! We shall do everything to help you...No matter how long it takes!

Fiona: You guys...I....*whipes away tears from her shaking eyes*...I don’t know what to say...I’m so-

*The Roaring is heard once more! But MUCH louder this time!*

Valmiro: Okay...Maybe that isn’t a wolf we’re hearing...

Kaseem: I told you! SOMETHING is out there!

Vayle: What in blazes WAS that...?

Akimoto: I don’t know...It sounded kind of like a Manticore, but...

Fiona: *!!!* A...A Manticore...?!

*The trees suddenly rip apart, falling to the sides as a large beast emerges from the dark!*

Valmiro: *!* WHAT THE HELL IS THAT?!

Kaseem: LOOK OUT! *Pushes him out of the way as they rush for the Caravan!*

*The Beast Swipes at the Bonfire, the flames hitting the logs and trees that Surround the Caravan! The Flames brighten the entire camp, revealing the beast from its shadows. Its appearance resembling that of a Lion with glowing yellow eyes, large horns sprouting from its head, the hind legs and wings of a bird, and the tail of a snake as it hisses and leers at the Caravaneers alongside the lion!*

Miguel: *!!!*...By God...

Tulio: It’s...I-t’s a...IT’S A CHIMERA!!!

Akimoto: You gotta be kidding me...*Readies sword!*

*The Chimera Roars in a bloodthirsty rage, the Snake Hissing and leering it’s glowing red eyes at the Caravaneers!*

Fiona: *Stares in utter terror at the beast, stepping back from it!*...N-No...No...Not again...

To be Continued in Part 5!

#Crimson Bloodline #Stories #Caravaneers #Chimera #Akimoto #Fiona #Vayle #Severus #Despoire #Republic of Despoire

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