Travels

[FireAngel]

Corwyn:

Each slow step of the two horses as they travelled along the wide, well-worn road that lead to the large tavern was deliberate, carrying the animals and a single rider purposefully onwards. The lead horse, a dark, powerfully-muscled bay roan, was noticeably larger and more powerful than the buckskin that was being lead, tethered to together by a length of rope so that the smaller horse, with its load of packs and baggage, could not wander far. The figure sitting atop the powerful roan was slouched slighty, his body partially concealed by the ragged green cloak that was pulled around him though flashes of light off of the exposed areas of his form would give away the fact that he wore armor of some sort, and he made no effort to hide the sword and light shield that were hanging from his saddle. He was tired and weary, and it was obvious in his pose and face, though he bore a look of grim determination and continued to press on.

The sun was starting to lower in the sky as the small group approached the tavern that was their intended destination. Dark eyes scanned the grounds, searching for some thing that only the mind behind the gaze could know, though his attention was drawn to the stables towards the rear of the building, and the grooms that were busy seeing to the animals that were kept there. A slight tug on the reins held within hands covered by thick leather with interlocking steel scales attached to the backs saw the warhorse turned towards the stables, and the pack horse followed docilely along behind until another tug was given, drawing the lead animal to a halt. The nearest groom had noticed their approach and was already making his way to this newcomer, awaiting the request that the two animals be tended to. It wasn't long in coming.

"Keep the large one away from any others, except my packhorse. He's not exactly friendly."

The voice was soft, but sure, quite used to giving orders that were followed immediately and without question, the command given as the rider moved to dismount. He moved with a sort of familiar grace that came to those that performed the same action over and over and over, until it was so ingrained in their memory and their being that it could be done without any real thought. Swinging easily down to the ground, he handed the reins over to the groom with a meaningful glance to the young man.

"Arrange for the packs and baggage to be taken up to a room, and for the key to be brought to me. I'll be in the tavern."

Without waiting for an answer or response, a gauntleted hand was reached up to pat the dark neck of the large horse, and the animal nickered softly in response. A faint smile turned up the corners of the man's mouth as he stroked the animal's neck, walking back towards the path that lead to the porch and main entrance to the tavern itself, not pausing as he reached up to do the same to the smaller horse, giving just a short, reassuring touch as he left them in the care of the young groom who let out a startled yelp as he promptly had the air just inches in front of his face assaulted by a quick bite from the horse he now held the reins of.

But whether he'd heard that yelp or not, the man whose long, oily-looking black hair was now blowing just faintly in the breeze that was starting to pick up did not stop nor look back, the former hint of a smile having been replaced by that same weary, determined look that was far more familiar to him. The cloak that he wore was allowed to fall open at the front, allowing glimpses of the mail that he wore, made of the same sort of interlocking scales that were found on the backs of his gauntlets, and which made soft, barely audible clinking sounds as he mounted the solid wooden steps that lead up to the porch and the doors that he sought.

As he approached, the doors flew open and a person stumbled out, quite obviously drunk, and quite obviously without a care as to whose path they might cross as they went. They ran directly into the man who wanted nothing more right now than to sit down on a chair that would not take him anywhere else, and to spend the night in a bed that was softer than the ground outside. And while that quick collision was enough to send the drunkard reeling backwards and to the side quick enough that they fell and lost their balance even while trying to offer their apologies in a slurred voice, the mailed newcomer was well trained enough to simply stand by and watch, having not been bothered much at all by the encounter. It was but a momentary pause, before he reached out to pull the door open again and step through himself, and as he walked through that portal it was like stepping into a whole different world.

Where outside there had been the first stirrings of a breeze, and plenty of light and fresh air and peace, the tavern was a study in controlled chaos. The air was still, almost stagnant, with the scent of roasting beef coming from the back mixing with the smell of ale and wine and... tavern-goers. It was darker here, with all of the windows closed and most of them covered, so that the bright sun didn't hurt the eyes of men and women that would wind up spending the night here in the common room and who would wake up with very painful headaches. Barmaids with large trays full of plates of food and tankards of ale weaved their way almost gracefully across the crowded room, moving easily past tables that were almost too close together and chairs that seemed to be constantly rearranged to suit the purposes of those that used them. It was an ever-changing sea of movement, and it took anyone who entered a moment to pick out where an empty table actually was.

Once that was accomplished, however, it was an easy task to cut through the crowd of people, most of whom were too far gone in drink to care when they were given a gentle nudge out of the path that they were blocking. Tiredly, the man settled into the chair that he'd picked out, and flagged down a barmaid that flashed a friendly smile when he asked for a plate of whatever the cook had heated in the back. As she turned and started towards the back, he didn't let his attention linger upon her buxom form, instead turning to look back out over the crowd, giving a small sigh as he sat back, finally just laying his head back and closing his eyes for a long moment.



Melodie:

She was oft mistaken for a gypsy when the soft ring of bells at her ankles were heard and the dusky skin and thick, silky sable locks were taken in along with the almond-shaped eyes that were tipped at the corners as if in possession of wise and mysterious knowledge. Too was the fact that she wandered, very nearly nomadic, across the width and length of the land, staying rarely for long in one place but traveling ever onward into both the known and unknown. Sometimes by horseback, sometimes by foot, the trim beauty would delve bravely, or stupidly as some would say, into cities and villages where both friend and foe would reside, with the great golden hawk perched on shoulder or arm if not soaring overhead, the woman would always attract some attention, if not for being a stranger than for the curious dress – vivid scarlet leather, supple and soft, adhered to sleek curves and displaying the trim, flat stomach and with the shaped curves of the sleeveless top edged in black leather and tooled with glittering red stones like bloody tears adorning the shapely figure. The leather-worked belt held a softer than velvet, matching crimson leather skirt low to slim hips, baring the slender curve of her waist moving to the flaring of sleek hips to a provocative degree and the whole was covered in a glorious, smoky black cloak that clasped at her gracefully curved throat by way of an elaborate working of onyx and blood-garnets.

In the distant eastern lands, she had been taken for a gypsy and nearly sold into a harem to a great warlord who was struck by the exotic and mysterious tribal tattoo’s that circled her glittering yellow-hued eyes. When he heard her sing, however, the man instantly realized that here was no common woman but a treasure and prize true and she had spent nearly a month chained to his bone-carven ‘throne’. The very voice that had captivated him, however, had also moved him until at last, drunken and with tears from the haunting melody of love lost that had come from the sweetly curved throat, her chains had been struck loose by his own mighty scimitar and the hoarsely whispered order to ‘Go, my gypsy beauty’, and she had not need to be told twice.

Cool, lush emerald grass was under her feet now, however, and the sky seemed a familiar deep azure blue as the foreign lands had faded, the great golden hawk at her side until the barren, windswept deserts of the East were left behind and then the creature sent ahead with a message to the Master of the Bardic College, and a simple few words from the normally eloquently spoken woman. ’I will return by New Moon.’ No need to sign the message, the carrier would serve well enough and as better signature as could not be found – GoldFeather a familiar and loyal bird to the bard, and as well no need to worry with his return as he would await her arrival to that great tower where Melodie made her home now.

She had made haste in her return, too, shaken by the events and moreso than she would willingly admit – New Moon was still a week away and the great trees of the forest began to reach in a familiar sway. For the first time in the near-year since Cedrik had died from an infection when his horse fell on him, Melodie had been in genuine danger and realized the sheer luck that had been involved in her release. The lovely bard’s training had been in the vocal arts while ensconced at the towers during her mandatory apprenticeship, leaving the weapons to the warriors, and with a single verse she could captivate an army, but no words could parry a thrusting blade.

The lone structure in the distance sat next to a glittering sapphire lake, ancient and yet timeless, short and yet imposing, boldly alone in the middle of a wood where magic and mayhem were known to travel hand in hand and the weak were wary to trod. Every stone and tree on the path was known, however, and when the tavern stood before her, the slim beauty did not hesitate but stepped with grateful feet onto the wooden steps, letting the soft ring of bells announce her return. The low dip and sway of smoke curling around the rafters and over the ceiling swished as the door opened and for a moment the evening breeze prelude the slim beauty into the room, cutting a wide swath through smoke and shadows and pushing away the stale scent of alcohol and patrons and pausing conversations briefly as the slim beauty was taken in with a glance when she stepped into the room.

”Melodie!”

The call was given with a bright smile on the lips of the wench carrying a tray with a tankard of ale and three cups on it, the wide platter balanced expertly on her shoulder as the woman offered the well-known and recognized bard a quick smile, ignoring for a moment the call of the table the drinks obviously belonged to in favor of giving the slim beauty a critical look up and down. Her smile faltered only a little and she gave a quick shake of her head, then tossed her eyes to the bar and Hunseth, the huge, bald and scarred bartender who held sway over the long, black-marble bar running the length of the back wall of the tavern, before looking back at the bard and nodding, as if to say You’ll have to explain to him first and then turned to the table. Incredible yellow eyes followed the woman’s visual direction and she found the giant man simply staring at her.

Bells made a faint jingle at her ankles as she moved in a graceful, zig-zagging pattern through the tables scattered over the tavern floor, dodging patrons with a deft, practiced grace and a twitch of slim hips, her eyes touching this patron and that as she moved and halting finally when she reached the bar, her brilliant eyes swinging around until they met the small, dark gaze of the bartender and her slow smile was offered to him.

”Hunseth. I see your frown has erased all smile of my return. What somber occasion you make this!”

Attempting a light air, her richly trained and dulcet voice carried through the room like a sonerous song, low and rich as a fine wine and as husky-sultry as sweet, soft velvet. It carried like a haunting lilt under the cover of conversation, and to most, it would wash over them unheeded, unable to discern the subtle qualities of the masterfully trained bard in the softly spoken words. And it did little to fracture his solemn façade as the keep looked her up and down, noting the dust on her normally spotless cloak and the invisible but there lines of fatigue under her brilliant eyes, causing his frown to deepen if anything. But before he could ask a question, Melodie felt the need to forstall him by holding up a delicate hand and shaking her head slightly, the tangled, sable curls shimmering rich in the light as she did.

”Please do not ask, you know I can not speak to any until I speak to the Master of the Academy. Might I have a room for the night, though, and a meal, which I’ll have down here? If you will grant me shelter this night, I will gladly repay you either by song tomorrow night, or by coin if you need that instead, when I return out again.”

The barter of song was common with the bard, however the offer of coin was testament to how close to her own coffers she was, her eyes glittering at the man with the light of familiarity in them and a faint smile curling her lips as he stared into her eyes. Silently, he seemed to accept her answer though Melodie knew it was more likely that he knew he would get nothing from her if she must first speak to her master, and a beefy hand was waved to the common room along with the gruffly muttered invitation to take a seat and he’d send someone over to her. With a nod at him, the slender bard shift around to a table near the center of the room and off to one side, the bells at her ankles making faint ringing noises to mark her passage as she moved for the table.

She was not long in the seat before the same woman who greeted her came over with a glass of sweet juice in a pewter cup, settling it before her with a slightly sympathetic smile and a murmured word about the tender’s over-protective nature. Melodie could only nod in agreement, thinking silently to herself that if the bartender was protective, then surely Decon, the Master of the Bard Academy, was at least three times so with the slim beauty.



Corwyn:

The sounds of the tavern around him, from the calling of patrons to barmaids that they were quite sure were ignoring them wholesale to the shouting of conversations across tables to someone who was no further than an arm's length away, assaulted Corwyn's ears as he sat there with his eyes closed, the expression on his upturned face as neutral as he could manage, given the situation. He was scowling just slightly, however, and he suspected that he was as he fought to drive off the sounds, to focus and center himself. It was a form of meditation that he had not been able to truly accomplish for many years now, and one that he sorely missed. The ability to dampen one's senses was one of the first that he'd learned, and one of the first that he'd mastered. That it eluded him now meant that he'd fallen further than he'd thought.

But in all his years, there was one thing that he had forgotten only once, and that was the wisdom of patience in all matters. Even when he heard the sounds of the barmaid returning to his table to set down the plate that he had asked for he did not move his head nor open his eyes, leaving only the steady rise and fall of his chest to bear testimony to the fact that he was still alive. He continued to seek the calm and quiet that this meditation would allow him, though his inability to accomplish his task meant that he was now smelling the plate full of roasted beef that was resting before him, and an enticing scent it was. Finally, with a small sigh he opened his eyes, looking up through the smoke-tinted air to the rafters of the tavern, before lowering his head to where his plate lay.

Lifting the well-worn fork and knife that had been provided with the meal, Corwyn cut a small bit of beef from the larger chunk and though it was just a bit overcooked, he savored the taste of the first hot meal that he had had in some time. He was, among other things, a capable cook, but while he had been on the road he had not had the supplies needed to prepare a true meal... a sack of beans and a bit of meal and flour had been all that he'd had to work with for the last several days, and a small campfire all that he'd had to cook with. It was nice to have some meat now. The ale that had been brought with his dinner was weak and watery, but he didn't linger on it for long at all as he enjoyed the simple luxury of having ale at all. When he left in a couple of days, he would have to take some with him, so that he would have something other than water for at least a little while.

As he sat and ate, weary eyes scanned over the crowd gathered around the large common room, before falling upon the female figure that had just entered the room, his gaze following her movements as she approached the bar. Something about her seemed familiar, somehow... the make and cut of her clothing, perhaps, which was unique enough to have made a mark on his memory. But while she did seem familiar, and he couldn't shake that feeling, he could not quite place her anywhere. Which... did not particularly bother him, considering that he had travelled quite some distance in the last several years, passing through many lands and staying in more than a few taverns almost identical to this one. That one person seemed familiar was not a troubling problem, and he let it pass from his attention as he settled down to enjoy his meal.

[FireAngel]

Melodie:

”Melodie girl, you would be as wicked as a devil, were it not that you sing like an angel. Hunseth worries for ye, you know.”

A slight tipping of those plump crimson lips in a winsome smile accompanied the upward sweep of those thick sooty lashes framing glittering amber-yellow eyes as the barwench stood over the table with arms akimbo and feet braced as if she were facing some worthy adversary rather than the slim maid seated at the table and with such delicately carven features that hinted at an elven heritage. A small wedge of bread sat fragrant and steaming on the table before her, the delivery used as an excuse for the woman to cast her calculating eye down on the lovely bard, worry for the slim beauty shimmering as the lines of fatigue were just barely discerned around the intricately woven tattoo around the eyes of the woman and a work-roughened hand slowly lowering to pat the slender shoulder in quiet support.

”Aye, Eda, I know he does. But I would not have him worry so. ‘Tis my lot and calling in life and I am content when the world stretches before me. Chained to hearth and home as he would have me, I tell you Eda, I would go mad.”

There was a sincerity in those softly spoken words that could be easily read and the barwench gave the very faintest of nods in quiet defeat, knowing the woman was right. It was special, those with the talent to weave word into song to cast the deepest of spells and the tavern, so close to the Bardic Academy, was often host to those wandering story-tellers. She gave a very soft sigh at the slightly sympathetic gleam in the yellow eyes and rolled her own gaze heavenward at the lack of repentance in the young bard.

”Gods help ye then, Melodie Cyalathe, because ye know he won’t yield ye a mite in that.”

The announcement of her name was loud enough to cause Melodie to cringe slightly and cast a darkling look at the woman, her slender sable brows lowering over the sculpted features framed by waves of silky, tousled raven curls laying like dark, mysterious ribbons against glowing olive skin. A delicate hand moved with a nimble fluidity to wave the barwench away on the tail of a scowl that deepened with the chuckle that came from seeing her comment met its mark, leaving the slender woman alone at the table. The same hand that made that gesture moved to the intricate clasp at her throat, the deep ruddy hued rubies winking and flickering in the play of the single short, fat stubby candle flickering on a frayed wick, causing the multi-faceted jewels at her throat to flicker and flash like fat droplets of blood marring the fragile, cool curve of her throat. Giving a slight shrug of the slender shoulders as the clasp fell free, the garment was moved to drape over her chair and Melodie settled in that familiar seat, letting her eyes finally, slowly, slip through the crowded room.

The bread was fresh and fragrant when the crispy crust was broken into and drawn to nibble on, a tiny smile lifting her lips as the gruffy barkeep was given a measure of her quiet consideration while he wiped down the bar and tapped another keg of ale for a pair of noisy farmers at the end of the bar. Indeed, the entire tavern nearly trembled with the muted sounds of humanity, drinks being gulped, food being smacked, utensils clanking together, cups hitting tables, shouts of laughter, of wagers, of cat-calls to the wenches that circulated the room with sweat glistening on breasts in the flickering play of the huge fireplace in the far wall. It all seeped into her with a familiar feeling of comfort that Melodie savored while in it, knowing that with something akin to wanderlust, the bard would not remain long at the Academy after delivering her report.

The speed that a small trencher of succulently roast beef haunch and delicately flavored baby potatoes and soft, steamed carrots was placed before her silently spoke of the favor the delicate bard held with the tavern and its staff, juicy bits of meat steaming in a thick, rich broth that lay in puddles on her plate while others might have had the rarest of flavors, delivered by the same wench who first and most familiarly spoke to Melodie. She paused at the table after sliding the scooped-plate full of food, enough to feed the slim beauty twice over, her curious eyes falling to the empty chair next to her and lifting in question.

”Cedric does not join you? Has he gone on to the Academy?”

There was just enough dubiousness in that question that it drew a wince from Melodie before she could stuff it back again, her brow creasing in obvious pain as the slender head shook in a minute, negative response. While the pain of his absence had eased considerably, there was still the hurt of loosing her constant companion of the past seven years to be felt, like a well-aimed arrow, having known the stalwart knight at her side since first venturing from the college and the armored and armed warrior, trained in the arts of protecting the bard by a brotherhood dedicated to the service. Oft had Cedric slept watch outside her door when some overzealous swain had become too deep in his cups and too enamored with the enchanting beauty whose voice could bring silence with a single low-voiced versed; oft had Cedric’s quiet voice provided advice to the route that they took; oft had Cedric turned away blade and bow in defense of the slender woman. Oft had he sat at her side at this very tavern and taken a meal with his dark eyes and quiet, watchful ways.

”He… Cedric does not join me.”

The mysteriously veiled answer drew a frown over the woman’s brow, but she closed her mouth and didn’t press any further, knowing firsthand that she would get no more from the slender beauty, but seeing, knowing, that there had been trouble, able to read it in the set of the girl’s face, the sad glitter in those yellow eyes when the knight was mentioned, the quiet tremble of her pretty red lips. A soft hand pat the bared shoulder, feeling the soft curls under her touch.

”Alright, deary. Alright. Will ye sing a song for us tonight, then? One song?”

Melodie covered that reassuring touch with her own hand and looked up at the woman with a smile, pushing the sadness of memory from her mind and nodding her head slightly, murmuring softly that after she finished her meal she would be glad to sing, and with that promise given was left to the fare still steaming before her. Taking up fork and knife, she drew a tiny morsel to her mouth and smiled around the succulent flavor, silently thanking the hulking barkeep for his adoration of the slender bard. Melodie knew without being told that there would be a warm bath waiting in her rooms as well and in light of that luxury figured a single song was no great hardship. Her small pack would be taken to the room as well and she would sleep between clean sheets on a fresh mattress this night, too, and the sorrow of doing so without Cedric’s familiar presence was soon forgotten as the meal was consumed and even after having her fill, the plate was still pushed back with enough left to feed another.

Her favor in the tavern was contemplated over the cup of sweet, chilled juice kept in a private, underground cellar, the bard letting a faint smile curve her lips as her thoughts played out over the same favor that was bestowed on the half-elf beauty throughout the many lands she’d traveled through. From the exotic, oriental courts of a venerable and wizen emperor to the sea-coastal lands of the distant western ocean-cities, the bard had found her travels had covered but a fraction of the lands and the urge to see more drew a sharp-witted hunger from the lean figure, stories of a race of horse-human creatures having reached her ears in a southern land and knowing an intense curiosity to head north to find these beings.

Finally, Melodie felt a stirring in her as Eda came to remove the discarded plate and cast a meaningful glance at her, then pointedly at the tiny corner of the tavern where a small space had been cleared for the woman, slightly elevated and with a small harp leaning against one wall. Giving a quiet chuckle, she nodded and rose slowly from the table, a tiny ring of bells accompanying the motion as she stepped from her chair and slipped in a graceful, zig-zagging pattern through the room to that corner, feeling several eyes swivel to the slim backside as she walked, her hips rolling in a seductive motion.

The first sound to be heard from the corner was a light, soft ringing of strings as the harp was touched by nimble fingers in a soft caress, sending out a rippling wave of melody that was hauntingly enchanting, utterly out of context in the noisy room. The next sound to be heard was a low, soft voice, husky and dulcet and pitched so that while it was low, the clarity and pitch slipped over the room like molten honey.

”Dark moon, silver light, in the forest the flower blooms.
Love, love, I plant for thee, a flower that blooms in the night.”

She could feel eyes moving to her, one by one, but did not look at them, instead her eyes closing as the fingers plucked lightly over the strings of the harp, feeling her soul start to shiver awake, the sonorous pitch of her words evoking a sensation coming to life, a deep feeling that was carried to one on the wake of hearing those words, her voice. The long, slender tendrils of sable hair fell to partially curtain the features of the bard as her crimson lips parted and the fingers strummed her harp and the depth of song slipped like a velvet blanket over the room.

”My heart, your token, held in your chest
While my flower is blooming, my love, my love, in the dark of the night.”

There was something sad and haunting about the words, the way it felt, as though her very heart was trembling with the melody and ached until she could not hold it in any longer, coming from her slender throat with all the utter emotion of a heart broken, her fingers plucking at the small harp adding with its sweet, saddened sound a complete picture that would weave a tail of forbidden love and denial, Melodie knowing her audience well and the song was sweet and soft and would soon have those softened by emotion haunted by the honeyed voice by the time that final, tender refrain was uttered in such a low, breathless murmur that it trembled in the air like dew dangling from a leaf.

”And when, my love, my love, when that flower does not bloom
And so, my heart, my heart, will I then be joined… with…. Thee.”

The final stroke of fingers over that harp left those words hanging in the silence as her head remained bowed over the harp, feeling the surging swell of sensation lapping at her dusky skin and knowing in that instant, for that instant, why she was perhaps one of the best bards at the Academy, save the Master himself. The tavern was silent with the hushed anticipation that stretched out from that lingering note, and then she slowly lift her head, the thick, sable locks falling back from the lovely, half-elven features, her yellow eyes glowing across the room as the small, burnished wood of the harp was slowly set from her lap. Standing, the soft crimson leather skirt was brushed straight, and amid a sparse clapping from work-rough, coarse hands, Melodie made her way back to her table with the accompaniment of the soft jingle of the bells wrapped in a shimmering silver band around her slender ankle.



Corwyn:

A warm meal now, and a warm bed later tonight that would be far softer than the ground outside. It was the closest that Corwyn had come in a very long time to the life that he had left behind... or, rather, the life that he had been forced to abandon. Once, he had had a home. He had been welcomed into enclaves build and run by his brothers and sisters. He had travelled, then, but with much greater means and accomodations than he had available to him now. There had even been times, once or twice, when he had stayed at palaces, dined with kings and queens, before retiring to chambers far more opulent than would ever be dreamed of by most. Now, he was simply thankful for what he could afford, that he could have this simple meal and a room that would not be shared with the wildlife outside.

Assaulted by the noise and smells and sheer presence of those around him, Corwyn ate slowly, knowing that the beef and accompanying vegetables would settle heavily on his stomach, and while he would allow himself to relax and indulge himself this evening, tomorrow he would either be moving on alone or joining a caravan or merchant. He would not hire on as a guard, his sword was not for sale, and... he was not sure that he would trust himself with the lives of others in his hands. His combat ability was little diminished over the years, but he had no reason any more to beleive that he could protect the life of another. He'd made the mistake of assuming that he was capable of doing so once before, and the blood that had spilled from the slender female form had spilled upon his hands as she'd died in his arms, leaving a stain there that even the leather and steel gauntlets could not hide from his sight.

A single armored hand curled into a fist as he fought to drive off the memories, as unsuccessful at that as he had been at quelling the sounds of the tavern around him on his senses. Just as he had failed and finding peace in his surroundings, he failed at finding peace in his mind now, the memory as vivid as if he were re-living the events. Heavy lids fell closed over his eyes , and in the resulting darkness he could see the woman as she lay in the grass near the carriage that she had been riding in, the long shafts of bandit arrows piercing her breast and side. The rush of adrenaline that combat brought to him was nothing compared to the fear and realization that coursed through him as he rushed to her side, that feeling assaulting him now as he could even feel the slight weight of her body as he gathered her into his arms.

There had been no chance to save her, by then. All he had been able to do was hold her, clutch the small body clothed in blood-stained white robes. And the memory was so real, so painful even now, years after he had realized that in failing to protect this woman he had been stripped of the right to be a member of the brotherhood that he had called his family, that as his fist tightened around the empty tankard the pewter drinking device began to lose its shape, folding in on itself until it was near-useless. He experienced her death once again, as he had so many times since that day... but then something changed.

A voice, soft and low, cut through his conciousness, the sung words driving away the memory that Corwyn would no sooner forget than his own name, but as the patrons around him turned their attention to the stage, that memory was not allowed to run its course fully. Dark, brown eyes opened, glittering faintly in the dim light with a hint of moisture that he wished would not have been there, and slowly he turned to regard the woman who was seated upon the stage in the corner of the room, her fingers masterfully manipulating the strings of the small harp that she held in her lap as her voice seemed to fill the room. And for an instant, then two instants... a moment... a minute... he didn't know how long, there was no one else in the room. There was only himself and the woman who had caught his eye earlier, not someone truly familiar to him, but with the voice of an angel, entrancing and enticing and comforting all at once.

The words of the song that she sang, the tale that she weaved, were inconsequential. They meant little to the armored man, and only barely registered at all. They were there, but they simply served as a vessel to carry the emotion and tone of that gorgeous voice, and Corwyn found himself lost in a tale that he needed not know the particulars of. It was love, it was a broken heart, it was... a denial that he knew all too well. And as he was immersed in the emotions, that tear that had been forming in his eye fell, dropping upon his cheek to trail slowly down across rough skin until it dropped from his face and was lost entirely.

All too soon the song was finished, and even as the woman he did not know, did not know the name of, gently set aside the harp that she had been playing and stood to retire from the stage, Corwyn's gaze followed her movments, marvelling at this woman who commanded such a mastery of a talent that only a very small select few would ever come close to matching. And for the moment, in the wake of that single performance, Corwyn knew a moment of peace where there had been none for a very, very long time.

[FireAngel]

Melodie:

Dark eyes glistened in admiration from a table with the candle intentionally snuffed, dropping a heavy veil of shadows over the far back corner so that the only indication of life at that table was the occasional swirl of the darkness and the reflection of those inky black eyes. They moved in time with the hypnotic, sultry sway of the trim hips of the bard, following the path she took through the tavern, glittering when the bright shine of a coin was pressed into her hand as she passed a patron.

”Thank ye, lady. Ye’ve the sweetest voice..”

The farmer was perhaps 40, but the toil of a hard life scratching a meager living from the dirt had well aged him so that his skin was a sun-chapped brown and wrinkled from squinting over fields so much. A lifetime of bending to pull weeds had put a near-permanent stoop in his back and caused his shoulders to roll hunched over, while the fingers that pressed the small, silver coin into her delicate, velvety soft hand were rough and gnarled, curled with a latent strength from gripping the tools of his trade all his life. The scraggly mop of stringy brown hair fell to his shoulders and perhaps once, in his youth, he had had a full head of hair, but now it was thinning over the crown and graying at his temples. But his eyes were still a bright, kind blue and held in them a measure of broken compassion in them.

Melodie paused for a moment when she felt that touch in her hand, and looked down at the man, her citrine eyes glittering with the play of the fireplace dusting her olive skin in a shimmer of gold; her gaze was quietly inquiring, searching the upturned farmer’s features, her fingers curling instinctively around the offering in her palm as his hands closed hers’ around the coin. It was not unusual for the slim beauty to receive such gifts for the songs she would sing, and indeed, the bard had long learned to graciously accept what tokens were given to her – the sizeable weight of her own coffers at the Academy could not be disputed – but something of this man made her pause in that acceptance. There was a sad air to him that seemed to reach beyond the intangible to touch her deeply, the sorrow in those old, blue eyes reflecting in a shimmer. She had always been quite intuitive, and when raw defeat gazed at her, Melodie could not help but feel a movement of compassion in her.

”Sir… keep your coin. My song is my gift, and I will share it with you freely.”

When the old man realized the words that were spoken in that soft, husky, musical voice, as entrancing in speech as it was in song, the glisten of his eyes became that of tears, his wrinkled brow curving in an expression that showed how he struggled for words in light of the generosity of the delicate, beautiful woman with the slender ears pricking in a graceful, upward tip from the thick, loose strands of sable locks tumbling from the haphazard nest of curls atop her head. He closed his gaping mouth and she could feel the work-roughened hand clasping her own fragile one tremble a little as he swallowed back repeatedly and gave a very slight nod, her fingers opening gently in that clasped hold and returning that coin softly to his own palm. With plump crimson lips tilting very slightly at the man, her fingers squeezed his again gently, softly, before slipping her touch from his. With a soft jingle of the bells around her slender ankle, the bard slipped past the farmer, leaving him alone at his table and with only his memories and thoughts and tankard of ale to keep him company.

The single candle burning on her table, illuminating the single glass and small bottle of rich, mellow wine that the barkeep knew the bard favored, also showed that the table was empty, a crushing reminder of her solitary journey, the first for Melodie in seven years, since first graduating from the tutelage of the Bardic Academy. As she made her way to her chair, the glitter of that candle caught in the ruby clasp of her cloak, glittering like freshly spilled blood for a moment, drawing an involuntary shiver down her spine at the unpleasant memories it evoked. For the first time, she would be returning to the Academy without Cedric at her side, and the weight of the report she had yet to give came racing down around her as the slender beauty took her chair again. Sometime during her song, the table had been cleared of her used plate and utensils, leaving her with the cup half-filled already to contemplate alone as the tavern slowly came rumbling back to life in the hushed aftermath of her song.

Ahh, Cedric! Why did you have to be so heroic? Had you fled with me…’ she did not finish the thought, knowing that his sacrifice had been the only reason she and the small caravan they had been traveling with had escaped unscathed. They had come from no where over a crest, a horde of untamed Northmen, wild and barbaric, armed for war and bearing down on the small line of wagon’s traveling what was amusingly called the Thieves Highway, a wide, unguarded expanse of land running along a jagged coastline far to the West. With a rocky death on one side and the Northmen racing on the other, the merchant and his family, and all their possessions in three wagon’s and two pack-horses that the bard and the knight had agreed to travel with from the city of Prothos to the city of Adella were easy prey for the small war-band. Save for Cedric, the merchant and his eldest son alone guarded the escape of the rest, and Melodie’s last sight of Cedric was of the knight bellowing, his sword shimmering in the afternoon sunlight as his arm lifted it high over his head and sent it sinking into the shoulder of one of those raiders.

But he’d immediately had three more on him for it. Her hand trembled slightly as it reached for the goblet of that wine and drew it to her lips, her eyes closing so the long, sooty lashes curled slowly down to mask the glitter of painful memory in her gaze. His sacrifice of his life for hers was nothing less than what he would have wanted, what he had vowed to, if ever necessary. Still, Melodie had never thought it would actually come to pass. There had been the occasional skirmishes, and once Cedric had even been drafted into a minor border war in a Pictish country, but he had always returned to her side afterwards, grimy, sometimes wounded, and with a closed, shuttered expression on his stoic face, but alive.

”Melodie? Lass? Ye look like ye’re in another country, girl. Are ye alright? Has someone cast a spell on ye?”

Eda’s voice was soft as it broke into her thoughts, causing the slender woman to blink and look up, her yellow-gold eyes shimmering as they came into focus on the woman who stood with a hand outstretched, ready to touch the slim shoulder and wake the woman from her daydream, a slight frown on her face as her sharp look roved over the delicately sculpted features of the half-elven woman, the black whorls and spirals around her eyes giving the features an exotic look as much as the slight, upward tip of at the corners of lushly-lashed citrine eyes. The bard smiled to banish the woman’s worries, lifting her hand to take that reaching grip gently, warmly, in her own.

”Yes, I’m fine, Eda. Forgive me, it’s been a long journey this time and I find I am eager to be home. I am quite tired, and my memories catch me easily unawares.”

The wench gave a soft chuckle, her hands gripping the softer ones gently, then dropping them to hold out a slender, golden key dangling from a thin, crimson ribbon, her lips curving in a smile at the young woman as her eyes twinkled brightly, almost mischievously, at Melodie. The bright shimmer of gold reflected in the candlelight, sparkling like a shard of molten gold dangling from a slender ribbon of blood, swaying back and forth almost hypnotically, catching her attention immediately and causing a slender, sable brow to arch in a silent, unspoken question.

”Hunseth say’s ye’re to stay in the Queen’s Chamber’s tonight. Say’s it’s the only rooms left available.”

A very soft laugh fell from plump crimson lips as her glittering yellow orbs flew past the woman to the hulking man behind the bar, catching his gaze quickly before he harrumphed and turned off in a blush, snatching a rag and turning to wipe a corner of the bar furiously before barking at a man asking for a glass of liquor. Returning her gaze to Eda, Melodie reached to take the key with a smile for the woman, nodding her head. Hunseth was wily. He knew such generosity would not have been accepted otherwise, and with a shimmer of silky, sable curls, murmured a quiet thanks to the woman.

Dark eyes reflected a cold shimmer when the flash of gold danced and swayed along the end of the ribbon, dangling from the old bar-wench’s fingers for the bard to accept, recognition of that key sparking a cold glimmer in those inky black eyes. The darkness swirled as thin lips twist in a macabre smile, watching the wench leave the table again, his gaze lingering on the slim beauty in that chair, her hourglass curves like a feast for a hungry hand, her velvety flesh warmly glowing in the light, those pouty red lips aching to be sampled and savored. Like a predator stalking prey, those eyes watched the svelte woman sitting alone, waiting for her to move before he would strike.



Corwyn:

At least two pairs of eyes watched the lovely bard's every movement, but Corwyn could account for no one's motive but his own for doing so. He was entranced by her, amazed and intrigued and... interested. Her body was as beautiful as her voice, her form lush and inviting, and the exotic tint to her skin and the slant of her eyes coupled with the slight point to the tips of her ears and the markings curling around her eyes to make her alluring and somewhat mysterious. She seemed a half-elf, but the cut of her clothing was far from being the norm for those half-blooded beings, and he wondered about more than simply her being as his gaze followed her from the stage back to her table.

The tavern came alive again, the noise picking back up now that the momentary distraction was over, and bar wenches that had stopped what they were doing to appreciate the song that the tavern had been graced with were once again moving, weaving their way expertly through tables, ensuring that the patrons were kept happy with full plates and tankards and, in some cases around the room, a full lap for a moment or two. The men who were staying at the inn alone, whether they be a regular or a new traveller passing through, made no attempts to hide the fact that they might well be looking for companionship for the night, and the more accomodating barmaids made no attempts to hide the fact that they were quite available for just that. Here and there they flirted, an occasional hand slipping to capture a feel of lush curves that would be offered up later that night... for a price, of course, but even as the very pleasantly buxom blonde returned to Corwyn's table to find out if he needed anything else that night, his eyes were only for one person in the room.

"Who is she?"

The question was not an uncommon one, he was sure. Even with wenches that were willing and a far easier catch, some men still preferred the thrill of the chase, and the blonde woman looked up to where Corwyn was watching Melodie as she interacted with an older-looking man, a farmer Corwyn would have guessed. With a faint smile, blue eyes were turned back down to him with an answer.

"Melodie?" The woman's tone was slightly disappointed, but she was doing what she could to keep it from showing too much, and she leaned down closer to talk to the armored man. "She's a bard, naturally. Extremely talented, but I'm sure you noticed that already... and she's probably just staying over a night on her way back up to the Academy near here." After a short pause, either for effect or because the wench was considering her next choice of words as she sidled closer still, pressing her ample bosom into Corwyn's arm, speaking in what she obviously hoped was a temnpting and alluring voice. "She travels with someone, though. A bodyguard, who was trained at the Academy... Cedric. Wherever she is, her knight Cedric is never far..."

Melodie. A fitting name for a woman with such talents, Corwyn decided, and he all but ignored the barmaid's presence so close to him as he listened to her words. An Academy... perhaps the building that he'd seen on the horizon while on his way to the tavern, but he would have to ask someone to be sure of that. And it probably would not be the woman who was pressing herself against him now, who was... very much being ignored.

"Thank you..." An extra couple of coins were placed on the table for the wench as she was, basically, dismissed, and if Corwyn had bothered to look up at her as she left, he would have known just exactly how disappointed she was with him. He didn't care. She would find someone else who struck her fancy, or who would offer enough money for her to act like they struck her fancy, and he was left to his admiration and consideration of the young bard.

She was alone, it seemed, and that fact made Corwyn wonder about just where this knight bodyguard that had been mentioned was. No one else in tavern at the momen struck him as having the demeanor or stature or bearing of a trained knight, and certainly none of them could be acting as a bodyguard to the lovely young lady. A slow gaze swept over the assembled patrons of the tavern, and while he noted many pairs of eyes that were turned in her direction, none of them seemed to be the sort that would have her safety first in their mind. It was a curious thing, this apparent lack of her supposed bodyguard, and Corwyn knew as well as any that a bodyguard that wasn't present was not a very effective bodyguard at all.

Frowning slightly at the thought, he reached for the tankard of ale that had been brought to replace the one that he had mangled, that one taken back into the back to be molded back into shape. Lifting the new, full tankard he took a long swallow, but the ale seemed to be less worthwhile as it had been several minutes ago, and was promptly set back on the table as Corwyn sat back into his chair again, his gaze returning to Melodie, drawn to her almost unerringly.

[FireAngel]

Melodie:

Alone again. With only her thoughts to keep her company in a room full of people, the bard sat at that table and took another sip from her wine, feeling the sense of isolation come rolling down on her again with the disappearance of the bar-wench. Usually the depth of Cedric’s absence struck the slim beauty most strongly in the evenings, when they would usually halt their travels for the night at either some village where the slender beauty would ply her trade for room and board and a meal for the two, or in a quiet camp the pair would make under the stars with the quiet breath of their horses tethered by to alert the warrior-knight to dangers and a tiny fire to illuminate the night. With Cedric at her side, Melodie had dined in palaces and hovels, his quiet protection an ever constant vigil.

No more would she hear his gruff laughter to some well-told tale, or see his unflappable demeanor when some threat of violence arose, or take comfort in the sound of his stone sharpening that well-honed blade that was ever near his hand. In many ways, that realization was driven home sharper than ever as she sat in the familiar tavern and did not know the companionship of the large, broad knight that evening. The weight of her sorrow at the man’s sacrifice reflected briefly in those citrine eyes as she gazed at the candle and tried to tell herself the knight was simply at the stables, tending to their mounts, and knew the sinking feeling of the truth.

The tavern door opened with an eager ‘crash’ into the wall and a pretty, delicate blond girl that wasn’t much younger than the bard rushed in, a velvet brown shawl wrapped around slender shoulders, her cheeks blushing to give evidence to the haste of her flight, her bright eyes swiftly roving the tavern, searching the occupants with an impatient glance. The jeweler’s daughter spied the dark haired woman sitting alone at the table and with a haste that left a quiet murmur in her wake, rushed to the unoccupied seat, her eyes flicking around again, searching, then falling to the table.

”Where is he? The stables?”

The impatience in those words did little to mask their curt, clipped nature, the petite blond woman favoring the half-elf bard with a slight scowl, then looking around the common room of the tavern again, searching for a man who would not come with an eager heart that Melodie knew beat only for Cedric. Oft had the bard attempted to persuade her companion to marry the blond daughter of the village jeweler, and as many times he had refused, though there had always been a mild softening of his features when the lovely, petite Rose Ashcroft was mentioned.

It was out of respect for that softening that she spoke, her words very soft, her honey-smooth voice pitched low so that it carried only to the two of them.

”Rose. I am sorry… He… Cedric… is not coming.”

Melodie could see enlightenment dawn, and then the bright, rounded features of the snow white and pale pink complexion close up, shutter themselves off from the truth as she shook her head, the bright golden curls gleaming in the flames dancing through the room, her hatred for the wandering bard forgotten for a moment.

”He… is he… gone on to the Academy..?”

The words were whispered to the bard, a look of delicate strain easing over the girl’s features so that she had to grip the back of that empty chair that should have been filled by the broad-shouldered knight. When the silky, sable curls shimmered with a delicate shaking of her head, all color drained then from the cherubic features and her fingers gripped the chair so tightly that her knuckles were bleached white. Pain and sorrow reached like a velvet mantel to wrap around the girl as her heart shattered before Melodie’s yellow-golden eyes.

”I am so very sorry, Rose…”

And she was. As close as the bard and knight had been, theirs was not a relationship of love such as the knight had held for the jeweler’s daughter and she enthusiastically returned. Still, his absence struck her almost violently as she watched the pain crumble the pretty girl before her table, and in an act of compassion, she reached to very lightly touch the back of the hand on the chair. The girl reacted as if she had been struck by a serpent, her eyes snapping open and blazing on the half-elf woman, her hand jerking back and her features contorting into a mask of pain and hatred.

”Don’t touch me!”

A bitter spilling of tears fell from pretty blue eyes in a hot river of sorrow and anger as her gaze blazed accusingly down on Melodie and with such a ferocious hatred that it nearly drew her back, her slender, sable brows curling down in a slight frown as her head shook slowly, the woman who knew so many tales at a loss of words to reach past the woman’s snarling anger to sooth her wounded heart.

”… Rose… I-“

“You killed him! You witch, you killed him!”

The accusation broke off any further attempt to speak, the heart-broken girl’s voice shrill and carrying in her grief over the tavern, her finger lifting to point at Melodie as she sat stiff and stunned in her chair, the tears flowing from her eyes. She could feel several people turn to watch this newest entertainment for the evening, and while the slender beauty was well accustomed to stares, she loathed the way they came to her now. The very lightest of flushes highlighted the dusky olive mystery of her features, her brilliant citrine eyes shimmering with the assault of the petite, little blond woman.

It was with some luck that the conversation had been overheard by Eda, who had been hovering like a mother hen over the nearby tables to the bard’s own when the younger woman had come in, and as the shock of hurt came tumbling down on Rose, she began to bustle over, recognizing the jealous fury of a woman in pain in the set of Rose’s slender shoulders.

”’Ere now, it not be her fault, lass. Ye know as well as any of us that the Brotherhood of the Blood Orchid is sworn to follow the Bards, even to death. Cedric made his choice, girlie, and stood by his vows. Ye should be proud o’ him, ye should.”

Eda tried to soothe the girl, to her credit, but it seemed as if her words enraged the slender blond and sent her whirling from the bard to face the wench, halting her in her tracks with the light of fury on her pretty, rounded face, her eyes blazing through the tears. The slender body trembled, drawn taut as if it would snap, and her lips curled in a snarl of loathing as her words were nearly spat at the wench.

”Proud? He died because he followed her! He died because of this witch! She is a witch, and all those like her! She should be burned!”

The hurt in those words was almost like an arrow shooting straight to Melodie, causing her to visibly flinch under the caustic venom in the girl’s words. She shook her head again, her finely carven features drawn in a frown, her brows lowered as sorrow poured from the bard.

”No. Rose, I swear, there was no spell. I am no witch. Cedric was a hero.”

The pain in those softly voiced words did not seem to penetrate the haze of fury in the girl’s mind, and it was not until the massive, scarred, bald Hunseth emerged from behind the bar and moved with an amazing stealth for one so large over to the table, easing his bulk between Rose and Melodie. When she turned back to point her accusing finger at the slender bard again, her entire field of view was blocked by a broad chest with muscular, powerful arms crossed over them and a scowl of fierce disapproval on the unyielding features of the imposing man.

”There will be no burning, not in my tavern, Rose Ashcroft. Melodie did not cause his death and I won’t allow for her accusation of it. Take yourself home, girl, and grieve because a fine man was lost, but cast those fool notions from your head and halt your accusations. They’ll bring you naught but strife and no good will come of it.”

With a voice like low thunder, he gave an order that rumbled through the room, his unflinching eyes glaring on the slender maid as she stood trembling before his fierce scowl and felt a trickle of fear. Hunseth was not the tender simply because he owned the bar or could tap a keg of ale. The man was also capable of routing most any trouble to the place and with his beefy, muscular forearms had earned a reputation for brawling in his younger years that carried through with scarred fists to tell the tale.

For a moment, it seemed as if Rose would resist, and then she turned and moved quickly to the door, her broken sobs coming quickly as she flung the handle open, but paused just before exiting. Turning back to face the tavern, her face a mask of pain and hatred, the blue eyes found the bard again with a venomous hatred that Melodie almost felt like a slap, her hand lifting to point at the woman again as if leveling a curse.

”Mark my words, you will rue your ways, witch!”

And then with a final look around the room, the girl left, the door slamming behind her in a sharp retort echoing through the silent tavern. Eyes swung from the door to the woman to the bartender to the wench then back to the elf again as silence continued to reign for the space of several more heartbeats, and then a drunk at the bar belched loudly, and it seemed as if the sound broke the stillness and set the world in motion again. Slowly, sounds filtered around again, and as the huge bartender turned to face her, Melodie felt her eyes slide closed and a trembling breath escape her lips.

When her eyes opened again, the bartender was gone, back to his bar again and Eda was bending over a table to scoop crumbs into her hand. The tremendous strain she had been under came crashing down on the bard as she reached to take a sip from her goblet with a hand that was less than steady, and fingering the key sitting atop her table, Melodie began to welcome the idea of escape into the finest rooms in the tavern.