Member
EXP: 485, Level: 1
Level completed: 25%,
EXP required for next Level: 1,515
Fiddle and Fangs (closed)
The sun was bright and shining, warm rays of gold spilling through the tree branches and leaves overhead like water falling through a sieve. Henry tilted his head back and closed his eyes, drawing in a deep, contented breath. While the young man was easily more at home within the stone confines of the city, he was not adverse to wandering through the woods for a few hours. His training in bowmaking had often required him to do just that, delving deep into the woods to find a suitable tree or sapling to use.
His fingers drummed against the case that was currently resting slung against his hip. He hadn't seen any other people on this trail for a few fair hours now, and he was beginning to get a bit - lonely. Growing up in the orphanage had meant he always had someone around, and while the forest was not exactly a quiet place - birds chirped in the distance, and somewhere nearby the fiddler could hear a stream babbling softly to itself - it was not the bright cheery sounds of a living city.
Henry kicked up his staff and tucked it through the holster strap on the left side of his travel pack. He'd been using it to help stay on his feet while he wandered off the beaten path, but he would need both hands free if he was going to walk and fiddle to entertain himself. After making sure the securing straps were in place, holding the staff secure against his side, the brown-haired young man flicked open his fiddle case and let the instrument fall into his waiting hand.
As soon as he was holding it, he immediately felt better. The finely crafted fiddle was a strong source of comfort for him, a reminder of the happy, warm ‘family’ he had grown up with, who cared enough to purchase this for him. He slid the fiddle stick from the sleeve on the side of the case and spun the fiddle up to his shoulder with a rather needless flourish - there was no one around to see his showmanship, but even with no audience, he felt a need to practice and push himself.
Henry was just about to start playing when he froze, his sharp, trained ears picking up an oddity. For a moment, it had sounded like there was another noise on the breeze - not one of nature, but one of distress. Of anger. His eyes narrowed before he closed them, concentrating on his hearing. There it was again, faint, but discernable.
Someone shouting, cursing, and the distinct ring of metal on metal. Someone was fighting, and sounded quite unhappy about that fact. Henry drew in a deep breath, and picked up his pace, deadening the sounds of his footstep as he went. He would see, observe what was happening, and intervene if he needed to.