• PM To Join • A Song of Light and Hope, Part One

[Pash Raj'oriq]

Zi'da 27, 717

Sometime in the late afternoon

Doubt thou the stars are fire,
  Doubt that the sun doth move,
  Doubt truth to be a liar,
  But never doubt I love.

William Shakespeare
Hamlet, Scene 2, Act 2

Pash hadn't expected to still be on Scalvoris Island this far into the season of Zi'da, but the Immortals, it seemed, had other plans. Uncomfortable, cold, snowy plans that stole his breath and promised to make the evening one that required staying warm and comfortable in bed. Not that such an idea was a bad one at all, but the weather was foul and it was impossible to know when it would be clearing up enough to make it out of the harbor and head toward Rynmere. If the snow and bitter cold here was any indication, the seafaring musician knew that sailing past Viden would be worse.

Still, the urge to move tugged at not only his heart, but the heart of his dark-haired huntress, the whispers from her familiar calling to her in her dreams. It was time, for all of it they'd already spent here had been a crucible of sorts, and a beautiful, strange one at that. The tall Biqaj had met the Sevir huntress in the Square, they'd adventured, they'd made friends, they'd been favored by Immortals, sharing U'Frek's and learning their abilities granted through such curious gifts. They'd thought they'd said their goodbyes, and yet here they lingered, snow and ice making travel dangerous, Pash now waiting on a spare set of sails and some better quality rigging just for the bitter cold.

"Tomorrow," Friell persisted to the tall Biqaj leaning against his warm wood counter inside of The Spirit of Adventure, "Tomorrow everything should be delivered from Almund and Egilrun. You've seen the snow, right?"

"Ze, I've seen 't." Pash sighed, restless and disappointed, his Empathy-stained fingers sliding from the counter, "A'ight, then, I'll be back t'morrow. Thanks again, Friell."

"Come later in the day, eh? Are you still playing at Cally's?"

"I'm no'. If th' snow'd give me jus' a bit 'r two o' room, I'd be in th' Square. We'll see. I miss 't." The seafaring musician rolled his sea-built shoulders in a shrug, readjusting the ever-warm cloak over the yellow dragon wood lute the man reminded him he was wearing, so comfortable had the masterwork instrument become that he hardly thought about it until it was in his hands, "Might get a bit o' playin' in b'fore th' sun sets yet."

He grinned and waved, knotting away the threads of disappointment and annoyance that wove their way uninvited into his tangle, cutting away the frustration before he really felt it. Opening the door to the Spirit of Adventure and back onto Scalvoris Town's busy streets slapped him in the bearded face with cold and he hissed but didn't bother with his hood. The snow had stopped, thank the Immortals, but everything was freshly coated in a few inches of fresh, chilled powder.

Still, the Square would be busy regardless of the weather and so Pash headed that way just because he wasn't quite ready to head home, especially not empty handed for the third trial in a row. Eager for his sails, the hull of his chest felt heavy, taking on the bilge water of doubt. They should have left in Vhalar, but they didn't. So much had happened, and here they were, stranded. Blaming himself, Pash did his best not to frown, but as the view of the frozen, ice-coated fountain of Scalvoris Center Square came into view, Pash smiled wistfully, exhaling in the cloud of his breath all of the negativity that had crowded his thoughts for just a handful of bits.

There were a few vendors and their wares, even a few food carts. The square had been carefully cleared of snow by city slaves with shovels, though a fresh dusting clung to where people rarely walked. The square wasn't too crowded. Given the late afternoon, the sun setting already and casting long shadows, there were enough townsfolk around that surely needed a song or two. So Pash made his way to the fountain as was his usual habit, a biting breeze catching stray strands of his sea-bleached hair that was pulled back and tugging at the edges of his always warm cloak. Rubbing his calloused palms together and pausing to huff a cloud of hot breath against them to warm them, he slid his lute off his shoulder, taking hold of the instrument with a very comfortable familiarity.

As he did so, a few of the food vendors and two of the merchants smiled. One waved. They knew him by now, visibly surprised to see the tall Biqaj out in the freezing weather. The cold gnawed at his bare hands and stung his face, but it was bearable under his cloak and warm wool shirt, bearable despite the cramped discomfort of boots he only wore in town. It was nothing, really, compared to sailing, and so he simply let the cold thrill his tanned, inked skin and keep him feeling alive. His eyes fluttered shut for but a trill, finding his focus in the weight of his lute and the depths of his feelings for a particular dark-haired huntress, letting the warmth of his heartfelt existence favored by Zanik and U'Frek fill him against the Zi'da chill.

Then, he played.

The tune was a liquid one, like a swift current followed by trade ships deep in the Orm'del sea. Those that heard it would half expect the snow around the salty bard to melt, so heated was the tune like the hot springs on Faldrass, but his music didn't change the weather so much as fill the hearts of all who listened with a surreal and palpable feeling of calm and warmth. His tide pool gaze swept the Square, lingering on familiar faces, curiously exploring the new ones braving the cold, and he strummed the courses of his lute in hopes of bringing some seasonal cheer to all who could hear as they passed by or lingered.

Off Topic

SURPRISE, Scalvfriends! Mwuahahaha.

[Noth]

Noth had always preferred functionality to aesthetics. It had always been far more important to the Avriel that something worked than that it looked as though it worked, because one could actually accomplish a task, and the other would fail the instant that it was called forth to perform any task. It was all well and good to don armor that was ornate and decorative, perhaps composed entirely of gleaming gold, and bejeweled metals, but if someone decided to launch a missile towards such a construct, the arrow would pierce through it with almost no resistance whatsoever. In contrast, an armor plate composed of hard and well-refined steel, but with an appearance befitting a dullard would be far better at saving the life of its owner even if it didn’t necessarily cast them in a regal light.

That wasn’t to say that the hybrid disliked the artistic pursuits. He enjoyed the natural art of the world, the sway of the trees in the wind of Saun, the colorful leaves as they fell to the ground in the midst of Vhalar, the perfect layers of snow that lay like a blanket on a Zi’da trial, the glow of the lesser luminaries during Cylus. No, it was not that he didn’t enjoy art or beauty, but rather that he found it more productive to focus his attentions entirely upon those things that would more profoundly affect his life. Art had never managed that, though it had its place; his wardrobe and the scattered wings surrounding his cavernous home were evidence enough of that.

His lack of attention towards the more imaginative and expressive portions of existence had blinded him to the slight sound of music coming from somewhere down the street, and he might have never noticed it at all if it were not for the glances of those around him towards the source of the entrancing noise. He too, like a sheep within a herd, began to listen to the musical notes, gradually appreciating their skillful sound from afar before determining that he would approach to better facilitate listening. His frightful and armored appearance drew the attention and ire of few as he crept through the steadily gathering crowd. Their attention was rapt upon the figure who played, and the Avriel wondered briefly whether or not he had seen him before; that mental exercise was quickly abandoned in favor of simply listening.

The hybrid had spent so much of his life struggling, so much of it attempting to prove that he was worthy, and so much trying to make the world a better place for those around him. Certainly, his path had taken him to a dark and deadly place, and he was certain that he reeked of an odor of death and violence, but… hadn’t it all been for a good cause? What better way to secure the peace of the world than to own it? What better way to end war than to kill all of the combatants so that there was no one left to wage battle?

A sensation of calm crept over him, and he found himself staring directly ahead, blindly gazing upon the figure of the musician as a plethora of thoughts scraped through his mind. The music was beautiful in a way that he had never experienced, an artificial construct so splendid that it seemed almost as precious as the natural things he enjoyed, as though it were something which belonged in the world instead of he who attempted to subdue it. The notes made him contemplative, and he stood for a long while in his trance, thoughts of anger coming and going, thoughts of regret, guilt, and perhaps even an inkling fear of what he had become.

And above it all, the raging question: Was any of it worth it?

[Pash Raj'oriq]

Pash felt the chill, surely, for Scalvoris' cold cycle was far more bitter than he was used to in Ne'haer. It crawled under his clothes and gnawed at his knuckles, but for a few bits, he'd simply closed his eyes and allowed himself to drift away into the warm, sultry notes of his melody instead of worry about how the weather made him feel. He'd learned over the seasons to find his focus, and so as he sought to project his feelings of warmth and contentment while his Empathy-marked fingers traveled over the courses of his lute, the strands of Zanik's hair that had become his strings a powerful force of further projection, the seafaring musician also allowed himself to drift into a sort of meditative state.

Wandering the hull of his thoughts, the cold of the outside world washing against well worn wood like the chilled waters of Scalvoris harbor, he sought to find his center. Disappointment and annoyance fell away, melting like snow near a bonfire. He wanted to be sailing, to be far out of the harbor and into the cold, open sea. He and Kali could have been well on their way past Viden and on their way to Rynmere by now, and yet they were not. The weather was harsh, and Pash had allowed himself to be intimidated. He'd failed again already, and that weighed him down. The tall Biqaj sought to find the rigging that held that anchor down in his soul, to cut himself free.

Exhaling a cloud of breath, he was aware of eyes on him, of a small crowd of folks beginning to huddle together and pause at his music, his masterful playing a welcome diversion from the bitter weather that gripped the island.

He could feel them, each of their tangles brushing his own as he looked within. When he chose to look, reaching with his magical sight to actually see their tangles, their colorful threads revealed the tapestry of their reasons, now able to not only see feelings but catch glimpses of their causes. The concern of a young mother buying food for the trial. The annoyance of a man sent on an errand. Pash opened his eyes as something else tugged at his senses, a broody dissatisfaction that rippled at the edges of his ability to feel others and felt like the tide rushing away from shore. Stormy grey irises rimmed with gold blinked at the dark creature that stood in the crowd.

The concerned young woman backed away in a hiss of breath, turning back to her business. An elderly man stared.

Regret and guilt and fear were familiar feelings to the salty bard, who could feel them without ever needing to touch the stranger's tangle. It was the feathered humanoid's appearance that struck him as familiar, and yet he had no idea why. He'd spent far too much time in dreams lately, and that made them less clear instead of more. Pash kept his tune, however, his hands not slipping from their places in surprise, though he may have felt the fear of others as they undoubtedly began to notice the interloper and how he simply seemed out of place.

In all his seasons in Scalvoris, almost half an arc, he'd never seen the humanoid before him around town.

Shifting his fingers, he shifted his tune as well, the warmth of his notes remaining but the tempo increasing, creating a sense of cheerful well-being, a counter to the weight of guilt and regret that threatened to flood his sensitive perceptions, a light in the darkness that washed over the small gathered crowd.

Pash held the crimson gaze of the stranger for but a trill or two, a heartbeat or a frozen, misty breath. He let his Spark-given sense reach beyond what he could see on the surface to wander for that briefest of moment's the hybrid's tangle. A curious place, twisted with threads of colors he wasn't entirely useful, it was the images of his tapestry, the brief glances of the sources of those feelings, that caught the salty bard by surprise. He looked away quickly, wanting to let his gaze wander the crowd, a note or two falling out of place, his rhythm faltering for an almost imperceptible moment. He didn't leave the stranger's tangle, however, far too interested in the strangely woven landscape to let it go for fear of getting caught.

The familiar feeling bothered him, but the crowd was also beginning to disperse as if they, too, couldn't handle the palpable fear either.

Still, the tall Biqaj played, regaining his musical composure into a lighter tune that felt airy and attempted to send those leaving away with a feeling of hope with which to smite the fear. Did the stranger feel the same? He watched him carefully, Pash's insatiable curiosity making it hard for him to look away.

[Noth]

Ice was simultaneously incredibly tough, and ridiculously fragile.

Perhaps the relative toughness of the material wasn’t the quality that most people considered when they thought of it. No, there were more blatant and obvious things that were always perceived first, because they were the more evident qualities. For example, ice was frosty and frigid and chilled, cold to the touch, and it was capable of cooling even the most heated of substances. Another quality that people thought of when they considered ice was its slipperiness. Something about the nature of the substance and the way that it constantly leaked water meant that it had been responsible for some rather dastardly and disastrous falls in the past, and whilst typically the injuries sustained were mundane, there were always those dreadful stories which hinted at the more mortal danger of ice.

So then, people probably never considered the toughness of ice. People never considered how the substance could be so strong, strong enough that it could stop even the mightiest of ships from passing if it were to freeze a bay, strong enough to lock something into its place for a hundred arcs if it caught it in the proper place. Simultaneously, they likely seldom considered the weakness of ice, the way that it fell apart at the slightest hint of heat at times, how liquid made it break apart, how even a single footstep could shatter an entire puddle of it. Yes, it was strong, but it was also weak… one just needed to know where to press.

The twilight hybrid considered himself to be strong. Certainly, he wasn’t so arrogant or prideful to think that he was the strongest person in the world by any means, and he had suffered his share of losses in the past to bitterly remind him of that fact. That said, he knew that he possessed a martial ability that made him a dreadful opponent to face on the battlefield, and the number of lives he had stolen away from others was an indication of his murderous prowess. His mind was tactical, analytical, logical to an extreme, and he had grown clever as his viciousness escalated to untold levels. When he had been younger, he would have spat upon the idea of becoming a torturer, a murderer, a thief, a robber… but now he saw himself as a monster, and he recognized the necessity of it.

He was a monster, and it made him strong. The violence made him mightier, made him more capable, and one trial he would be able to affect anything he desired in whatever way struck his fancy.

He had seen agony, true agony in ways that made his heart sink. He had caused agony, caused pain and suffering and vile deeds, and they sickened him to his soul to the point where he banished them from his thoughts, refused to even consider them. Oh, he was a monster, and it made him strong, but at what cost? The cost of the transformation was something he refused to consider on most trials, because the sheer grossness of it was disgusting to the extreme.

For several trills, the twilight hybrid lost himself in the music which surrounded the plaza. He listened intently to every note created by the instrument and its talented bard, and gradually there was a sense of peace and calm that began to surround him. He released a breath that he had not released he had even pent-up, and wondered at whether or not it had been locked away within his chest for an arc before it had been released. He shuddered his eyes from the world for an instant, refusing to look upon the licentious and pitiful crowd around him, and instead focusing his thoughts on more pleasant matters than the racist affectations of persons who judge entirely on appearance.

Crack.

It was a gentle weight, as many were, but it was enough to recall a vivid memory, one of many of his murders, a subtle recollection of a frustrating event that made him groan. That one had been deserving of death in a way that most were not, and so he shrugged, and attempted to return to the calming sensation that had wrapped around him.

Crack.

Another memory, this one far worse, involving the pitiable events wherein Marrow had ordered the death of a pair of young children who had dared resist them. He had neither wanted nor needed those two children to be exterminated, especially in not as vile a manner as they had been, and the thought made him visibly shake with anxious frustration, as though it were too much for his conscious to handle.

Crack.

There was the face of Tei’serin; trusting, innocent, positive and seeking the best in him despite his appearances, deciding in the heat of the moment that she would trust the being that trills earlier had been attempting to fight with her. He watched from a bird’s eye view as his hand clenched around the stone and bashed into her skull, sending her plummeting to the ground before his predatory talons had rippled across her throat and ended both her life and the child inside of her.

He recognized that he could feel that one, could feel the tension, and he glanced down to find his talons digging fiercely against the stone underfoot, scratching at it with reckless abandon. He demanded that the incessant weapons remain still, and, to facilitate that order, promptly began to shift his position to the nearest structure, attempting to remain within range of the bard’s music in the hopes that it might calm him.

Crack.

He saw it. He watched as his father’s face lit up with surprise and… fear… The hybrid’s chest began to ache with physical pain, and he felt his hand clench underneath the gauntlet he wore. He could see every detail as though he were there again. He clenched harder, attempting to force away the memory with physical pain, but it was not enough.

Not enough.

Not enough!

The Avriel moved with sudden violence, slamming the clenched fist into the nearby brick wall, feeling as the force of it radiated up his arm. It ached with a dull thud, and he promptly returned it to its sharp pain by striking the wall again. Blow after blow landed against the unthinking piece of construction until it felt quite possible that he might have bruised the bone of his hand, even within the gauntlet. Where he had stricken, brick had been chipped and broken with the force of the blow.

Why? Why had the memories come? What had caused it?

Crimson eyes locked onto the bard, and Noth wasn’t sure whether he was demanding fear, or pleading for help.

[Pash Raj'oriq]

It was subtle at first, the caress of darkness. Pash was caught up in his own music, as was his usual habit, having let his mind drift inward even as the emotions of the crowd that had gathered despite the cold to hear him brushed against the edges of his Spark-enhanced senses. He felt what they felt like one would feel the individual threads of a thick wool shirt—each individual thread of feeling came together to make a heavy blanket of emotion, scratching against his soft, overly sensitive perceptions. The emotions themselves led his music: shifted his fingers over the courses of his lute, drawing his hands toward deeper, more robust chords and faster, more upbeat rhythms. As he felt, so he led, moving the hearts of those who listened upward even in the bitter cold dreariness of Zi'da.

The threads of frustration weren't enough to notice right away, a little itch under his blanket of feelings, a dark smear of color behind the tall Biqaj's eyelids. Anxiety. Tension. Anger. The darker tendrils, the threads of negativity, wove their way into the thick crowd of emotions like serpents, demanding attention.

Lagoon blue eyes fluttered open at the sounds of cracking ice and metal against structure. The crowd murmured and the tide of their emotions shifted. Pash felt it like eddies swirling at his ankles, tugging him away with the swift but still-gentle force. People began to walk away, stepping from the dark-feathered creature with wary glances and a few whispered words. Pash held the dark creature's crimson gaze warily, for there was something about the way the half-breed carried himself that clawed at the hull of his chest with unease and fear. It was thick and heavy and he couldn't avoid the threads of dread that began to lace themselves into his well-manicured tangle.

One or two people tossed some coins toward the seafaring musician's feet as they took their leave, eager to get away from the strange creature as he appeared to be the only one becoming angrier at Pash's music. The crowd quickly dispersed as the dark-feathered hybrid continued. The Empath's tune changed and he shifted on his feet, the melody slowing noticeably into a more powerful, forceful song of calm.

The tall Biqaj began to glow. It was hard to notice, honestly, like the mist that curled off of the cobblestones when too much sunlight warmed the snow. Golden in color, it was just on the edges of perception—one had to do a double-take and stare to really see the light curl off of his person, though it was interlaced with a bluish glow that had actually been there the whole time but wasn't really assaulting to one's vision of the salty bard. Once noticed, though, it was impossible to not see.

Pash didn't stop playing, even once his audience dwindled to one, and while the volume of his music quieted, there was something about the notes that had tangible weight to them, that tugged at the half-breed's actual feelings in a way that was compelling.

It just felt right. It felt peaceful. It felt hopeful.

A step toward the dark creature and the seafaring musician was forced to knot the stronger, thicker threads of fear in his own tangle as they rose, something about the other dredging up a terror Pash wasn't used to feeling, let alone used to tying away. Another and he relaxed his shoulders a little, fingers still plucking lute strings, their unwavering eye contact allowing the experienced Empath a view unlike any other. The brightest, vibrant emotions of anger and hurt, fear and frustration, came with brief, strange visions of a history he couldn't piece together, of pain and faces he couldn't place on a coherent line to understand, but a tapestry vision of who or what this creature before him was none the less,

"No' one for crowds, eh? Ot djal—there's prob'ly better ways t' ask 'em t' leave, though." Pash spoke above the soft song on his lute, his baritone voice smooth like a warm cup of calming tea, inviting despite how his own heart raced under the tanned, scarred hull of his chest. His irises shifted, darkened, became more of a stormy grey than the lagoon blue they had been in his concern, flecked with the vibrant gold of concentration. For a moment, his gaze flicked to the creature's armor and weapons, somewhat unsure of what to think of the vision before him—he wasn't an Element. A mercenary perhaps? It was a strange audience to have, but Pash's playing didn't falter,

"M'haps a private tune t' calm your nerves an' send y' back on your way would do, qes?" Anything to keep the tense half-breed away from the crowd, judging by the condition of the bricks he'd smashed with his hand. Pash hovered just out of arm's reach, closer now, smiling despite himself, clearly suggesting the other man calm down.

Off Topic

Ot djal - ooth DHAL - "Please," or literally "If you please," but often used as "Do you understand?"

Qes - KAS - Yes.

[Noth]

What was it about music that had a way of touching the heart in a way that no other stimuli could manage? Was it the way that it removed any inhibitions that a person had put in place around painful memories, and so they were dredged up in its wake? Could it be that vision was linked to a different portion of the mind, and that the sound of music somehow managed to transcend to a higher point of understanding within the brain? Per chance was it simply that music had been blessed by some Immortal, because certainly there was an Immortal of music, and yet, the twilight hybrid could not recall ever having been taught of an Immortal of sight or vision.

Though he possessed no supernatural or gifted abilities, the twilight hybrid had long grown accustomed to learning to identify the people around them and what they were thinking. He took note of the occasional disdainful look cast in his direction, and the fearful shudders that rippled up the spines of those who found themselves gazing into his own crimson orbs. He understood immediately that he was disrupting their trial, disrupting what little peace and solitude they had happened upon by merely being present, but he cared little for their rest or relaxation, not when his mind was tortured with memories that seemed far too fresh to be natural.

The Avriel kept his attention rapt upon the musician, almost accusatory with the intensity that he lay upon him, though he was logical enough to recognize that the man certainly couldn’t be influencing any of his internal thoughts. It was simply a result of the melodies that he strummed, and the genteel music that he played that his mind would suddenly be filled with such chaotic indecencies. For an instant, the Avriel caught sight of a glimmering of light, and became aware that the sun must certainly have changed position, and yet, a quick glance upwards revealed that nothing had changed, and a subsequent analysis revealed a strange truth.

The man was glowing. It was a faint sight at first, and had he not ascertained that nothing in the cosmic bodies had shifted, he likely would have simply attributed it to the movements of clouds as they blotted out the greater luminaries. There was a faint shift in the music, and the hybrid listened as the chords softened in volume, like a gentle plea to his psyche. The murderous bird suckled in a deep breath of air, feeling it brush over his lungs, and promptly released the tension in his hand, allowing the pain to seep away gradually, like a septic disease, dripping through his blood until finally it had dissipated almost entirely.

He exhaled, observing as the breath which had been locked so dutifully within his chest was suddenly expelled outwards into the frigid winds, becoming a brief fog before disappearing. At least, it disappeared to most eyes, but the Avriel observed as it traveled through the air currents, watched as it finally disappeared beyond view after it had stricken a nearby structure and been forced to rise above it. The voice reached him, and his attention flicked back immediately to the sole remaining figure; the musician whose music had very nearly broken any pretense of discipline he possessed by virtue of playing his beauteous songs.

There was a weak and mirthless chuckle at his mention that the hybrid was not one for crowds. It was true to an extent that it was easier for him to work when he was not being jostled to and fro by gallivanting bands of civilians whose most important things to do were purchase new groceries and go to their meaningless jobs, but he didn’t possess an innate disposition towards despising crowds, nor people in general, although at times there had been evidence that perhaps that should have been his response.

“I’m afraid crowds do not like me. When you are one such as I, others choose for you which reaction you ought to take.”

A brief smile crossed his face, hidden away by the armet he wore, though a hint of it touched his crimson eyes. “Apologies. I prattle. I would kindly accept a tune… but, I must ask. Were you cursed by the Immortals to glow in such a way?”

[Pash Raj'oriq]

"Can't please everyone. Wouldn't want t' anyway, t' be fair." Pash smirked at the dark creature's agreement to how he fared with others, and while even the tall Biqaj had to admit that the feathered humanoid made him uncomfortable, that there was something haunting and frightening about him in a way that was predatory and dangerous, he'd faced down bigger, more threatening beasts in seasons past. He had enough well-fed bravado to keep his wits about him, even if his tide pool gaze washed over the weapon and armor, the talons and broken gauntlet of the man-shaped halfbreed in front of him.

The seafaring musician was a thrill-seeker, after all, and even fear set his pulse racing, filled the hull of his chest with a tempo he could play a song to. The hint of a smile wrinkled crimson eyes and at the halfbreed's question, Pash laughed, loud and baritone in a cloud of heated breath,

"Cursed? Ze—no." His Empathy-stained fingers stilled on his lute strings to quiet the noise, calloused palms resting on the courses and his sea-built shoulders squaring with a wave of pride, "Favored be th' word you're lookin' for. Blessed by Zanik an' U'Frek both, an' I s'pose I forget that th' evidences o' their kindnesses are visible t' those who take th' time to notice."

He left out the Spark of Empathy that lived within him, that had grown and changed him, if only because the outward effects of its existence only stained his fingers with colors like thread and created the comfortable aura of calm that seemed to exude from his very pores. He didn't glow because of it, and even if no Immortals had marked him, he would have shimmered in the moonlight had it been evening, given the nature of his Biqaj silver blood.

Pash thought little of his admissions, far from ashamed of his devotion to Immortals, his desires for relationships with the alluringly powerful beings he'd admit he didn't entirely understand and yet who'd given them their attention, his hopes to serve them in his song and sailing just a part of his adoration. Ignorant of the dark-feathered hybrid's origins and opinions, it wouldn't have mattered if he knew them, for the seafaring musician was quite comfortable with his convictionsr, having walked with Immortals in dreams and played music with them in Cally's across the street,

"I know m' choices aren't for everyone, but m' music is m'own." He meant that, of course, the tall Biqaj able to manipulate the feelings of others with his music and with his gifts, but not able to manipulate his skill level with either. Shifting his weight on his feet in the chill of Zi'da, he settled into a stance with his arms resting on his well-carved, yellow dragon wood instrument, strung as it was with Zanik's own hair,

"What kind o' tune can tame a savage beast such as y'self? Or, perhaps, you've no wish t' be tamed an' I should simply sing y' out o' town?"

Pash's grin bordered on the coy, taunting, even if the baritone of his voice was still rich with humor. Under the surface, his Spark-enhanced attention could feel what the creature before him could feel, the wash of his emotions tickling the edges of his senses like the surf tickled toes on the beach.

[Noth]

The man spoke agreeably to him, noting that it was impossible to please everyone, and further highlighting that statement with an addendum that he didn’t desire to please everyone anyway. Noth considered that for several moments both in regards to himself and in regards to the bard. It seemed somewhat strange to him that a man who made his living off of entertaining others would be so blatant about his relative disregard for their happiness and satisfaction, but he supposed that most people were innately rather selfish, and whatever didn’t assist them or help them in some matter was typically ignored. Perhaps that had simply been a slip of the man’s mind, something that had managed to sneak through whatever filters he left in place to ensure that he didn’t harm his reputation as an entertainer, or perhaps he was simply a brutally honest sort. Regardless, Noth did not question him further on his feelings about satisfying others.

The Avriel found himself at a strange juxtaposition in terms of his relationship with satisfying others. On the one hand, everything that he had done, all of the atrocities he’d actively committed, all of the wicked deeds, all of it had been done for the sake of helping others. In the end, his goal was a noble one, one that would help to bring peace and sanctity back to a land which had forgotten its way the instant that the Immortals had decided to use mortal lives as pawns in their cruel game. Yet, on the other hand, he cared not for people’s interpretations of his actions. He didn’t care that they considered him cruel and wicked, sometimes even worse than the very godlings he fought to save them from, because he recognized that they were confused and lost. They didn’t understand the grand scheme that he had set about, and how could they, for he never revealed his master plan, though it weighed heavily upon his mind at times.

His question as to whether or not the man was cursed or not seemed to catch the musician by surprise if his sudden silencing of his instrument was any indication. Perhaps he had expected the divines to be regarded in better terms, though an Etzori never forgot their true enemy, no matter what land they now stood upon. He spoke of how he had been blessed by Zanik and U’frek, and further how he occasionally forgot the blatant evidence of such blessings was strapped to his flesh. The blessings which marred the flesh of men were a disgusting thing to the hybrid, and he visibly tensed at the idea that the man approved of his being merely another puppet.

Perhaps the man truly was capable of reading his thoughts, because he quickly quipped with the statement that he understood his choices were not universal. Noth found himself staring at the man, curious as to whether such abilities were truly possible in mortal men. He had seen such… capacity for mental intrusion in otherworldly entities, but he had yet to observe it in action when bound to the mere flesh of men, and the thought that it might be possible fascinated him.

The fellow jested about which tune would be required in order to tame him, or perhaps if that was unacceptable, which tune would work to ‘sing him out of town’. He got the sudden impression that perhaps the bard desired that he leave, because he had managed to chase away all of his crowds, but perhaps it was simply meant to be a joke. He determined that it would be unacceptable to accept the statement as an insult, and decided instead that it was simply the humor of a talented minstrel.

“I’m afraid there is little that would tame that can be found in gentle songs and epic rumblings. I… have a work that is to be done, that cannot be passed off to any other. It must be accomplished.” He spoke resolutely, his own convictions in what he must certainly accomplish as firm as the sturdiest timber which formed the ship’s mast. “You do have my sincerest apologies about the crowd… something in your song brought up… bad memories, terrible terrible memories.” He shuttered his eyes from the world for an instant as he recalled the death of his father, the image still clear even after so many arcs had passed, and then promptly re-opened them, scanning the bard carefully for a reaction.

“I don’t suppose you have a name?”