A Night to Remember
Nairn, Alberia. October 5th, 989. Dusk.
A few days ago a bard, and foreigner, named Fenwick Brom Chaucer came into town. Like most bards, Fenwick was invited to stay with Angus McCormac in his home. He was given a warm, dry place to sleep and the best food the village had to offer. In return, the bard brought news from the outside world, told stories from distant lands, and even played some music. He was getting ready to move on to the next town when another bard arrived in Nairn. Curious, and always ready to learn more news, stories, and songs, Fenwick decided to stay another night.
The eve of October 5th was clear and calm. Most of the village was gathering around the village center and catching up on gossip. In Nairn, all major events were held in a big, open building. The building was two stories high and large enough to comfortably hold every member of the village. On three sides of the building hung 12ft tall double doors. The doors were heavily reinforced and could be barred from the inside. On the fourth wall was a platform raised a couple of feet of the ground. The humble dais was was were the elders sat when there were official town meetings and were bards performed when they were in town. In the middle of the floor was a large fire pit that villagers were dumping wood into. Above the fire pit was a simple venting system that let the smoke out but stopped rain from getting in. Because of the nice weather, the doors were latched wide open and the villagers were mingling mostly outside of the building.
Angus McCormac stood on the dais talking to a thin, white-haired man holding a Rebec like Chaucer's. That pale man wore strange black robes and had a red tattoo under his left eye. His fingers ended with long pointy nails, and he had the smile of a snake. The man gave many of the villagers the creeps, but the rules on hospitality were sacrosanct.
Fenwick was still trying to adapt to life on his own, he had been the second member of a duo for his entire adult life, and while he could naturally command the attention of a room, it did not always occur to him to do so. He had a modest demeanor and was not yet accustomed to life in Alberia, where bards were respected and praised, which reinforced his humble approach to the large social gathering. He was planted on the ground of the building, sitting cross-legged near the fire pit with his back to the stage he would be performing on later tonight, his instrument laying casually flat across his lap, and his attention focused on the gathering of people and their interactions.
He had started to become familiar with certain members of the small village in his short time here, not only familiar faces but mannerisms and personalities, and he was eager to observe them when he was not the center of their affections. He was equally curious about Deargh Baird Cairns, though Fenwick had been a bard for most of his life and had met many along his travels, the only one he could claim to know was his father. If he was going to improve his craft, and diversify his offerings he would need to learn from other bards like Cairns. For now he sat back and observed, amicable to any and all who might approach him where he sat.
"Ok, but stay in earshot," Caerwyn shouted to his younger siblings as they ran off to find others of their age. Caerwyn's father wasn't attending the festivities tonight. He only did so if something serious was being discussed by the council. Caerwyn didn't really get along with any of the kids from his peer group. There had been animosity between them when they were younger because Caerwyn was different, but by now they had all agreed to amicably ignore Caerwyn unless there was business between them. He was glad his siblings didn't have any stigma because of him.
With his siblings off to their own devices, Caerwyn turned his attention to everything else. He had seen the bard, Fenwick, on the first night he was here but had avoided him since. Caerwyn could sense that in some way the bard was like him. He wasn't sure how he knew, or how exactly he could tell, but something about the bard resonated with him. The reason he avoided him is that the bard seemed to notice it too. Caerwyn didn't really trust strangers, so he figured it was best to not try the travelers attention to him. The captain at the nearest Inquisitorial camp was already watching his family because of his mother, he didn't want to try any more attention to himself. The bard probably wasn't related to anything like that, but why take chances? Unfortunately, his siblings really wanted to come see the new bard and were already miffed at him from only taking them to see the first bard on the first night.
Realizing he had skipped dinner, Caerwyn meandered over to one of the campfires outside of the hall. At the particular fire that he was going toward sat Old McHenry, a local fisher. Old McHenry always sold fish on a stick that he cooked over the campfire at events like this. They weren't anything to brag about, but at a copper a fish, it didn't get much cheaper. Caerwyn nodded to McHenry and flipped him a coin. McHenry nodded back, and Caerwyn grabbed one of the sticks over the fire. The other great thing about McHenry was that his wife cut his 'lying tongue" out of his mouth before she left him, so you never had to make small talk either.
The village had been all a flutter because not one, but two (count 'em, TWO) strangers were in their midst: Fenwick the bard and a mysterious man with a red tattoo. Fenwick had been in town a few days and by now had amassed quite the nightly audience in the village center. This gaggle of villagers had grown since his arrival and tonight it seemed nearly everyone was accounted for, even those from the far off farms. So Jayne and Celeste thought tonight would be the perfect night to unveil their latest line of inventions: a quick-release cart hitch, pigeon points (delicate but strong arrowheads ideal for precision shots at small game), and, Jayne's personal favorite, a metal guitar forged from a new light alloy of her own secret recipe. Lightweight, loud, and lovely.
"I'll set up over here, you do whatever it is you do," Celeste said with a smile as they reached the door of the main building. What Jayne did was simple really. She only had to mingle through the crowd and brag about their smithy skills then circle back to their stand. In short order, someone would arrive and say, "I heard from somewhere that you have a new arrowhead that I have to see?" It worked like a charm every time and no one ever thought her a braggadocio.
This time though she took the guitar with her. What I wouldn't give to be a bard, she thought. Damn this stupid wispy voice. She eyed Fenwick and desperately wanted live vicariously through him if only for a moment, but he had a line of admirers starved for stories encircling him.
So she turned her attention to the other newcomer, the man with the red tattoo. Unlike Fenwick, the ONLY person near this man was a very uneasy looking Angus. But she saw his Rebec and shrugged. Why not? she thought, and strode up onto the dais and gave the man a hearty thwomp of welcome on the back.
"Good eve'nin'," she whispered as loudly as she could.
Jayne's hearty greeting nearly knocked the man off his feet. She was a big woman and he a small man. As the man regained his balance, a dark look crossed his face. Angus took one look at Jayne's strange instrument and sighed, "Celeste, this is Deargh Baird Cairns. A bard from Moth. Deargh, this is Celeste McDoe. She owns and runs the local workshop." Jayne should probably be used to the constant mix ups, but she expected more from people that had known her since she was a child. "Well I'm going to go talk to Fenwick and see if he has more to entertain us with tonight." Then the old man nodded to them both and took his leave.
Deargh looked Jayne up and down with annoyance before saying, "Celeste was it? That is a strange instrument you have there. Do you consider yourself a musician?"
Meanwhile, Angus approached Fenwick where he was sitting near the fire. "Good evening my young man. Are you planning on entertaining us again tonight or are you going to let the new comer have the stage to himself?" As far as Fenwick could tell, the old man wasn't trying to lead him one way or the other.
"Actually, I'm Jayne," Jayne introduced herself with a polite bob of a curtsey. "Celeste is my twin sister; we own the forge here. I'm no musician myself, but have always admired the craft. That's why I created this." She held out the metal guitar and gave it a melodic strum. "Go ahead, why don't you give it a try and see how you like it?"
Fenwick was casually chatting with a few of the villagers who had approached him when Angus joined the conversation. Fenwick seemed unsure himself for moment before responding, "I think, if it's alright with you of course, I'll allow your newest guest the spotlight tonight." Even Fenwick didn't sound all that convinced in his choice, likely if either Angus or Deargh himself attempted to sway his opinion they would succeed.
Deargh took the strange instrument and positioned his hands on the strings. Then with a strong strum, he loosened a loud, discordant chord upon the hall. Most of the people looked shocked or frightened, but there were some that felt the power behind the sound. In any event, Deargh's lips curled in disgust. "I think you still have some work to do," he sniffed derisively as he held the device out for Jayne as if it were covered in vile and feces.
Meanwhile, Angus audibly gasped. When he saw where the sound came from he turned to Fenwick, shook his head, and muttered, "That girl is going to be the end of us. I just know it." As Angus went off to calm down the rest of the elders, a small voice broke through the relative silence that had settled over the hall.
"But the rest of my friends have already gone!"
"No, and that's final. And don't even think about trying to sneak off. I'll have the town watch looking for you," commanded Calum to his his son, Fearghus. Most of the town knew what the conversation was about but the two strangers would be left to wonder as the conversation ended there with Calum storming off, and Fearghus turning around and crossing his arms. Deargh seemed to pay special attention to the interaction, but he quickly recovered and pretended to not be paying attention.
"Yes, well, anyway. I have some preparations to finish before my performance, so if you'll excuse me," Deargh dismissed Jayne before turning away and walking a few feet to a pack he had on stage.
The chord from the guitar caught Fenwick by surprise just as it had the rest of the hall, though he had a different reaction to it than most. He stared at the instrument in awe, like many in the hall, but instead of fearing the unfamiliar he was intrigued by it. He did not respond at first to Angus's comment, and before he did Angus had scampered off to tend the crowd, so Fenwick's words were to no one but himself. "What did you say her name was again?"
He seemed to entirely miss the interaction between Calum and Fearghus as well as the fact that Angus wasn't around to answer his question, but took careful note of Deargh's dissimilar response to the instrument as he excused himself back towards the stage. His decision to start out the night as an observer was reaffirmed, and sensing that the performance would soon start for the night he took the disruption in the crowd to slip further from its' attention. While performing on stage the previous night he took note of a few places that would make for good viewing angles and took up a spot at one of them off to the far side of stage left.
Miffed, Jayne went to look for her sister. She found her finishing a transaction and approached her as the customer left. "Much luck?"
"Yeah. The hitches and arrow heads are selling well," Celeste replied. "Good job getting the word out." Then Celeste dropped 17 copper in Jayne's hand. "Your half of the profits."
"Thanks," Jayne responded, feeling a little better that the other inventions had gone over so well.
Despite her dislike of the new bard, the two girls joined the rest of the village in watching the performance.
The man's performance was quite ordinary despite the air of superiority he cultivated. He played a number of staples for Alberia and a few from nearby providences. The only song of note was from an old Alberian poem about a ship that sailed to far from shore.
There passed a weary time. Each throat
Was parched, and glazed each eye.
A weary time! a weary time!
How glazed each weary eye,
When looking northward, I beheld
A something in the sky.
At first it seemed a little speck,
And then it seemed a mist;
It moved and moved, and took at last
A certain shape, I wist.
A speck, a mist, a shape, I wist!
And still it neared and neared:
As if it dodged a water-sprite,
It plunged and tacked and veered.
With throats unslaked, with black lips baked,
We could nor laugh nor wail;
Through utter drought all dumb we stood!
I bit my arm, I sucked the blood,
And cried, A sail! a sail!
With throats unslaked, with black lips baked,
Agape they heard me call:
Gramercy! they for joy did grin,
And all at once their breath drew in.
As they were drinking all.
See! see! (I cried) she tacks no more!
Hither to work us weal;
Without a breeze, without a tide,
She steadies with upright keel!
The western wave was all a-flame.
The day was well nigh done!
Almost upon the western wave
Rested the broad bright Sun;
When that strange shape drove suddenly
Betwixt us and the Sun.
And straight the Sun was flecked with bars,
(Heaven's Mother send us grace!)
As if through a dungeon-grate he peered
With broad and burning face.
Alas! (thought I, and my heart beat loud)
How fast she nears and nears!
Are those her sails that glance in the Sun,
Like restless gossameres?
Are those her ribs through which the Sun
Did peer, as through a grate?
And is that Woman all her crew?
Is that a DEATH? and are there two?
Is DEATH that woman's mate?
Her lips were red, her looks were free,
Her locks were yellow as gold:
Her skin was as white as leprosy,
The Night-mare LIFE-IN-DEATH was she,
Who thicks man's blood with cold.
The naked hulk alongside came,
And the twain were casting dice;
'The game is done! I've won! I've won!'
Quoth she, and whistles thrice.
The Sun's rim dips; the stars rush out;
At one stride comes the dark;
With far-heard whisper, o'er the sea,
Off shot the spectre-bark.
We listened and looked sideways up!
Fear at my heart, as at a cup,
My life-blood seemed to sip!
The stars were dim, and thick the night,
The steersman's face by his lamp gleamed white;
From the sails the dew did drip—
Till clomb above the eastern bar
The hornèd Moon, with one bright star
Within the nether tip.
One after one, by the star-dogged Moon,
Too quick for groan or sigh,
Each turned his face with a ghastly pang,
And cursed me with his eye.
Four times fifty living men,
(And I heard nor sigh nor groan)
With heavy thump, a lifeless lump,
They dropped down one by one.
The souls did from their bodies fly,—
They fled to bliss or woe!
And every soul, it passed me by,
Like the whizz of my cross-bow!
The poem came to a slow and quiet finish. Slowly and methodically, Cairns started packing up his instrument as the village came out of its stupor. The night was silent except for the crackle of the fire. Lethargically, the villagers started to move and collect their families. There was no idle chatter after the performance. Everyone just listlessly made their way home.
"Let's get to bed. I am really tired," Celeste said to Jayne as she collected what remained of their wares.
Meanwhile, Angus approached Fenwick, "The missus is getting pretty tired, so we are heading back to the house. If you don't mind heading back earlier rather than later, I wouldn't mind getting to sleep myself." Unfortunately for Fenwick, being the guest in peoples homes often meant he had to keep the hours they were used to keeping.
Fenwick was a bit disappointed that Angus wished to retire early in the night, but was too polite to show it, let alone object. He was new to this country, and he had no intentions of offending anyone quite so soon. He gave his fellow bard a figurative tip of his cap at the evening performance before turning back to Angus, "Of course."
Fenwick traveled back to the McCormac residence with the family, during the walk he inquired about the history of several of the Alberian songs and poems that Cairns had performed that evening. Though many Alberian songs were famous and did spread to the capital, after all Alberia was the bard capital of the continent, some of the ones he heard this evening were new to him. Just as interesting though, was the native perspective of the ones he'd already heard before. Back at the residence, Fenwick slept near the hearth, though it was a fine evening he was still accustomed to the warmer temperatures of the south, and the flickering light of the fire allowed him to stay awake later into the night and jot notes into his journal about tonight's performance.
As the bard’s performance came to an end Jayne had grand visions of stomping up to the man and demanding the past twenty minutes of her life back. He seemed to have a knack for putting people to sleep. “Kill joy,” she muttered.
“whatdidya say?" Celeste yawned.
Jayne waved her off with an absent flick of her wrist. The town was heading home and though the end of the night was often a busy hour for the twins, not a single person paused from their stupored shuffle. Jayne watched her neighbors with a sort of annoyed fascination and mildly noticed that there were a few stragglers who still looked a bit awake as the headed out– Fenwick, cearwyn, and mister sandman himself: cairn.
“letsssgo” her drowsy sister said, nodding to the other end of their trunk from which they sold their wares. The twins heaved the trunk between them and were the last out of the center of the village. They arrived home to their forge and shop a short while later and Celeste immediately dropped into bed in on her side of the loft. Jayne stayed up a bit longer behind the counter in the shop, sketching ideas for new inventions by candlelight until she fell asleep with her cheek in the ink.
While most of the village was fast asleep, including Caerwyn and Jayne, Fenwick was still awake working on his notes when he heard a soft thumping against the door. The fireplace had burned down to the embers, and his candle only had about an inch left. Cocking his head, he listened more carefully. Thump, thump, thump. It was like the sound of a branch hitting the house in the wind, but there were no trees close enough to be hitting the house. In his gut, he knew something strange was going on.
Fenwick was slow to stir at first, he really did think that it was just a tree branch or something from the outside. On the continued thumping he pushed the covers off of his legs and set his notebook aside, exchanging it for his sheathed dagger which he tucked into the back of his trousers as he approached the door. He took with him a long coil of rope from his pack, grasping it in his off hand as he got closer to the door. Assuming there was no peep hole in the door, he went to the nearest window and discreetly pulled back one of the curtains just enough to peak outside, he was a guest after all so even if he didn't have such a strange feeling in his gut he wasn't about to answer the McCormac's door. (I think I can accumulate Zeon to prepare spell casting but I don't overly remember the system...)