Notes of White, Blades of Red

[Il Amator]

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Time drives flocks from field to fold;
When rivers rage and rocks grow cold;
And Philomel becometh dumb;
The rest complains of cares to come.

The flowers do fade, and wanton fields
To wayward Winter reckoning yields:
A honey tongue, a heart of gall,
Is fancy's spring, but sorrow's fall.

But could youth last, and love still breed,
Had joys no date, nor age no need,
Then these delights my mind might move
To live with thee and be thy Love.

The lingering notes of the hauntingly sweet song hung in the air for only a moment before the tavern’s patrons picked up their own bawdy ballads once again. The singer smiled as she stepped down off the table, pleased with her performance for the night. The tavernmaster approached her, tossing a bag of coins into her hands when they were close enough, “Liana, that was beautiful, lass.” His grin matched her own as he indicated the pouch he had given her. “That’s for the last four nights as well as tonight,” he told her with a wink. “Ye’ve earned it.” They exchanged a bit more smalltalk, but Liana’s mind was elsewhere.

She had been traveling around Scara Brae for the past two months, singing at various taverns along the way to earn some gold. Unsure what she wanted in life, the fair-skinned musician had come to enjoy the wandering lifestyle it had turned into. She met some characters, to be sure, but the majority of the people she ran into were pleasant and willing to pay her for her time. Singing was her one true passion; until she couldn’t eke out one more note she would continue to tell her stories through song.

The lyrics she had sung had been written by a bard of no small talent many years ago. Raleigh had been his name and he had written the song at her behest. The lyrics spoke as if the words came from her very soul; they told of her desire to be with her lover and of her need to be independent and free. She had commissioned the song just after running away from her fiancée; a sailor who had pledged his life to her. The act had frightened her so much that she had fled in terror to the farthest corner of the world. And thus had she ended up in Scara Brae.

Liana Rawlings had changed much since leaving her lover, but one thing was sure; she would never be tamed by any man.

((The lyrics above (http://www.dindragoste.ro/love/nymphs-reply-sheperd.php) are an excerpt from the poem The Nymph's Reply to the Shepherd written by Sir Walter Raleigh. I used them to set the tone for this thread for I am no lyricist myself.))

[Il Amator]

I stepped wearily from the rocking craft and embraced solid land once again. “Oh sweet earth,” I lavished as I dropped to my knees in the harbor of Scara Brae, “I’ll ne’er leave you again!” The sailors passed me and chuckled at my dramatic display. We four had discussed many things during our dice games over the past week, not the least of which being my open hatred for the sea and all things nautical. Just why did the bloody boat have to rock so much!? The three salts made their way to the closest pub and left me to my own devices. I was sorry to see them go, for their company had been pleasant enough, but it was time for me to begin my travels.

I had stood in this very harbor two weeks earlier, gazing out over the vast sea toward the region of Corone. Hromagh the Strong had sent a messenger to me in a dream, telling me to face his champion in The Citadel or feel his wrath. My sense of honor had driven me to the city of Radansanth where I had faced down The Valentine Bleeder. Hromagh’s champion had ground my bones to dust before trying to destroy my only connection back to the world of the living. V’dralla, another of the Thayne, had saved my life, though at what price I did not know.

I released my breath in a sharp blast, not even knowing that I had been holding it. Matters of the Thayne worried me; it was not the place of a mortal to be involved with the gods. However, I was now the thrall of a goddess; her matters were now of my concern. For if she was to fall into peril…

My hands grew clammy at the thought of being pressed into her service doing who knew what. I owed her my life; I had yet to determine if that was a blessing or a curse. Shouldering my bag, I left the docks behind me and wove my way through the narrow streets of Scara Brae.

Before the dream, I had been enjoying the company of a beautiful young lady named Stefania. With her, I felt something different from when I was with other women. It had worried me at first, but now I felt as though the strange inklings burning deep within me might be love. Quit being foolish, I chastised myself. You knew the broad for three days! Sighing as I dodged out of the way of an oncoming cart, I knew I was rushing things.

The city always held such a pleasing ambience to me; the bustling people milling about like so many ants, the haughty nobles strolling along with their servants in tow, the hardened laborers trading crude jokes and tall tales… Scara Brae was magical. Having grown up in the city, I knew its streets better than I knew anywhere else; she was my home. And upon returning to her, I felt keenly just how much I had pined at being away.

As I passed through the square, a variety of aromas battled for dominance over my nostrils. First I was assaulted by the pungent stink of sweat and blood; challengers stumbled out of the Dajas Pagoda after failing to prove themselves worthy of being admitted. Then that smell was tossed to the curb as I passed a butcher’s shop. This particular store slaughtered and cooked their own meat, so the aroma of seared game filled my nose and I greedily drank it in. But before I ducked into a side alley to find the city gates, I was struck by another odor; citrus.

The climate of Scara Brae’s region wasn’t suitable for growing fruits of any great variety, and so the smell of citrus struck me like a blow to the head. My mind reeled as it took in information that didn’t relate to what it expected. Furrowing my eyebrows, I turned a full circle, trying to discern where the aroma originated. A squirrelly man hunched over several baskets caught my attention and I curiously began to move toward him.

“Come,” he called, snapping his head up and meeting my eyes without hesitation. Had he known I was intrigued? “I am having many kinds of fruits for you to try.” His toothless grin made me uneasy, but his exotic wares drew me ever closer. The hair on the back of my neck rose in anticipation, my nostrils flaring as my blood began pumping faster. I reached out a hand toward once of the baskets containing a brilliant orange fruit. Grasping it, I brought it closer to my face to examine it.

“What is this called?” I inquired, turning the fruit over again and again in my hand.

“Orange,” he responded, with an air of mystery.

“No, what type of fruit is it?” I asked, unsure if he hadn’t heard me correctly.

“Or-ange,” he enunciated, clearly baffled at my obtuseness.

“I know what color it is,” I snapped. Then, calmer, “What is the name of this fruit?”

He stared at me unblinkingly for several seconds before leaning closer. I leaned in too, intent on the secret he was about to share with me. His lips puckered slowly and he inhaled deeply before replying, “Oh-ran-ggggge.”

All sense of foreboding having been driven from my mind, I slammed my hand down on his rickety cart. “What’s the damnable thing’s name!?” The man leapt back away from me, terror evident in his eyes. My fingers dripped with wetness and I wondered how I could have made myself bleed so easily. Looking down at my hand, I saw that I had smashed the fruit onto his cart in my rage. Juice ran down my arm and dripped from my elbow, coating me in it sticky sweetness. Sheepishly, I looked up into the man’s dark eyes and grinned. “How much?”

After we had settled, I couldn’t help but chuckle at the entire encounter. I hoped that I hadn’t frightened the ancient man too badly. What had me so on-edge? As I slipped out of the city gates, my mind returned once again to the Thayne and their meddling in mortal affairs. Of course, I realized gloomily. V’dralla.

The road leading away from Scara Brae lay before me like a dead snake. Somewhere down that dusty path was a beautiful girl who I hoped was still waiting for me. “Who am I kidding?” I asked the darkening sky. “Coming back here for her…” But I had come all this way already; it seemed a shame to turn tail now. Shaking my head with self-contempt, I started the two-day trek toward the countryside tavern where my last journey had begun.

[Il Amator]

Dark brown eyes watched the singer as she stepped up onto a table to begin her performance. They took in the woman’s attire; high beasthide boots, a long white vlince skirt, an elkhide belt studded with Akashima redwood beads, a billowy vlince blouse, a tight beasthide bodice, and a blue choker. Clearly she had some skill to be dressed so well. Or was there another reason for her lavish lifestyle? Perhaps a rich father or affluent cousins… The dark eyes continued their perusal.

Liana’s dark brown hair was gathered in a single braid that ran down her spine, ending just above her belt with a white ribbon tied around it. Her hazel eyes gazed out across the tavern, observing those she was about to entertain. Her fair-skin burned red as a nervous blush crept into her cheeks, making her small freckles stand out even more. The woman was a beauty; no doubt there. But did her singing match her looks?

Stefania Chalice’s brown eyes took in all that as she settled back against the far wall to await Liana’s performance. Word of the singing lute-player had traveled far across the fields of Scara Brae. The tavern was filled nearly to capacity as more than just the regulars had come out to see Lady Rawlings.

“Hello everyone,” she greeted the crowd. “Wow, there sure are a lot of friendly faces out there!” A few people chuckled and the nervous blush continued to fill Liana’s cheeks. “Umm… I’m going to play a few songs that I wrote, how’s that sound?” The tavern filled with hoots, hollers, and catcalls while the singer readied her instrument.

When she began her song, those gathered quieted down instantly. Everyone in the room began absorbed in the music; lost among the ivory notes drifting through the air. The confident voice of Liana Rawlings swept over them like a spring breeze, carrying them away with it.

Half an hour passed before she took her first break, disappearing back behind the counter as the patrons began to stir once again. Conversations started up and Stefania smiled as she grudgingly admitted it; the girl was good.

Taking advantage of the intermission, Stefania slipped up the stairs and into her room. She’d been staying here for nearly a month and had become fairly taken with the rustic tavern. Work was slow for her; it had been longer than she cared to remember since she’d had a mark. Things will pick up soon, she told herself. You’ll see.

In between jobs, Stefania liked to ‘entertain’ herself with whatever attractive males she could find. She’d had more lovers than she had fingers and toes; most men were all too willing to snuggle under the covers with her. Chuckling to herself, the voluptuous assassin searched her bureau until she found what she was looking for; her lockpicks.

She’d heard enough of the performance to confirm her opinion of Liana Rawlings, now it was time to take advantage of the cover the singer provided to earn some money. Rent was due soon… Stefania needed some gold.

[Taskmienster]

This thread has been sitting for a full year. Since no response has been made to create activity I am going to be moving this. If you would like it to be reopened please feel free to PM myself or another staff member and they will be able to move it for you back to Scara Brae.