RP:Winters Ire
This is a Bard's Guild RP.
Summary: Two bards stumble upon each other outside the mines in Xalious. Graham, alongside his companion Dacron, introduces himself. They proceed to Frostmaw Tavern, where Graham auditions for a place in the Bard's Guild and easily seals the position.
Winters Ire by Graham - Deus Arkhen You know that I'm a pious man Of which I've always had my self control - (Sed propter vos) - Dear Delisha You know that I'm much weaker than a priestly saints inner world and soul - (Non sum, inanis) - So tell me, Cyris Why I see her standing there, just beyond my reach, beyond my hold - (Cogitatione) - I see her and feel her The moonlight sweeps her golden hair and she is growing in me, ever cold - (Quid opus est hoc?) - Like frost Winters Ire Her memories chill these veins This longing, is unholy And soon I will break - (Mea culpa) - Dea Delisha Why must you curse these hands and strip a man of all that he holds dear? - (Mea maxima culpa) - Deus Arkhen Why must you take away the light, the honor and the purpose of mans life? - (Mea maxima culpa puella) - So tell me, Cyris Why strip away me freedom and leave me with nothing but this pain? - (Quid opus est hoc?) - Like frost Winters Ire Her memories chill my veins This longing, is unholy And soon I will break - Her thoughts, Her mind, Have all, gone cold Her tombstone abandoned, And took with it my home. - Like frost Winters Ire, She has left me all alone. This longing, is unholy and soon I will fade.
Path To The North
Graham and his wandering had always gotten him far. Truth be told it had gotten him into trouble many times before as well. He could remember the first time he met Dacron, the centaur who trailed behind the bard with an irritated look. “Graham, look. I get it. You don’t get to head into the mountains often, but seriously?” The four legged companion throws his arms in the air, irritated over the situation. “Well, Dacron,” Grahams velvety smooth voice calls out in response. “If you paid attention to your surroundings, you wouldn’t get your hooved foot wedged between two rocks.” How should I get him out of there? “I mean, how are you supposed to pay back your life debt stuck like that?” If any random wanderer happened down the road, these two would be easily spotted; as the stand smack dab in the middle of the path. With a sigh Graham gives his friend one more glance. “Give me a moment, let’s see if I can figure out how to get you out.”
It didn’t take long for Alvina to appear from the North, travelling in the duo’s direction. Traditionally, she travelled in navy cloak and dress but the summer winds blow warmly through the Xalious Mountains. A proper change of attire is mandatory. So when she falls into view she’s dressed in a knee length black sundress with an appropriately sized (that is to say overly large) sun hat perched atop her crimson curls. It leaves bare her golden, metallic left arm as well as it’s fleshed counterpart. She stops short of the stand and looks them over carefully. The lands had been dangerous of late, it’s hard to trust just anyone. “Hello there?” She offers, timidly at first, knuckles of both hands curled around her satchel strap that cut across her dress. “You two look to be in a predicament. Can I offer some assistance?” It wouldn’t be unheard of for such a thing to be a trap to lure innocent bystanders into helping. The bard is on her guard.
Graham does not verbally respond to the stranger at first. Instead, he turns to face her and examine the new arrival - unashamed of what he’s actually doing. Unlike many within these lands, Graham is nothing more than an average looking male. With medium length black, unruly hair which he presently sweeps away from his face. His travelling gear seems to be a mixture of browns and greens, but of poor quality; no matter how well kept they are. The only thing to stand out about him are two features. The first, a deliciously perfect smile which stretches across his features. Lastly his grey eyes, which carry a certain aspect of sadness. Like a sea amidst a storm which has capsized boats and drowned legends who will never return home to their wives and husbands. A certain time of longing clings within them, but nothing of ill will. “Well Dacron,” his voice is still smooth. “I’m sure you’d much rather have this pretty lady help you out than I, correct?” The centaur looks embarrassed for only a moment, and then jerks back freeing himself with sheer force. “No, I,” Graham instantly starts to laugh cutting Dacron off. “I knew if I threatened you with her, you’d break free.” The bard shifts his attention back to Alvina, “I’m sorry about that,” his hand idly scratches the back of his neck. “My names Graham, and I’m a travelling bard. Dacron here,” A thumb points back to his companion, “Gets really nervous around women. And yes, you might actually be of assistance. Are there any bards in Frostmaw?” Strange question indeed.
Alvina feels like a bystander in a private affair. The longer Graham stares at her, the wider her eyes become. She has the momentary panic of wondering if he can read minds with those stormy eyes. Or perhaps he’s just stalling for an attack! Quickly, she glances over her shoulder, spilling her curls this way and that before the Centaur pulls himself free with a faint blush to his features. Are the tips of his very ears now slightly pink? Her silence expands through his introduction, after which she smiles and seems to relax. Even smile. “Ah, Graham - Dacron.” She looks at each one in turn, offering a slight bow of her head. Her hat flops unevenly. “Happy to be of assistance?” Though had she really done anything? “I understand completely, we women are an unruly sort.” When the male mentions bards, her humanoid ears perk up. “Ah! Yes! Actually…” A beat while she whispers (audibly) to herself. “How strange that he should ask, what crazy happenstance!” Then she looks back to meet his silvered gaze and offers an apologetic smile. “I am actually a bard!” On a good day, an unruly woman on a bad one. “And I happen to belong to an organization of bards so I think if bards are what you require, bards are what I can certainly provide!” Her tone shifts to that of a carnival barker advertising an astounding show. Only a copper to see the two headed man snake! “And I’m most certainly familiar with Frostmaw - quite a few bards there…” Though if she’s honest, a few have been off on their own adventures. No matter! “How can we humble bards be of assistance to you and your companion?”
Graham tilts his head to the side while listening to Alvina speak and then finally shifts his attention back to Dacron. “She’s a bard, Dacron! Thanks for getting stuck!” The centaurs features still carry a pink hue, but his only response is to turn away. Why is Graham thanking him? “Actually, I’m looking for bards,” his gaze moves back to Alvina. “Because I would like to meet them, perhaps learn from them and teach them what I know. I’ve been hoping to stumble across a Bards guild or association where we all gather, but so far I’ve been unsuccessful. If you belong to an organization then perhaps you could introduce me to their leader, I’d very much like to join. As for my companion, he’s like a pet. Always following me around.” Graham grows serious and tries to mimic Dacrons stoic features and tone of voice. “Sire, I shall not leave. Not until I have paid back my debt. So go get beat up or something so I can save you.” His act stops, and he offers another smile. “If you want to help him, then perhaps you should just threaten my life. He won’t leave till he saves it.”
Alvina wants to confess that she is the temporary leader of such an organization! The Bard’s guild! If only she could! Instead, she’s laughing at his impression of his Centaur follower and wondering just what this strange bard did to earn a life saving debt. “Gladly!” She chirps at his mention to threaten his life. Her features stretch into a dramatic (but overly silly) expression of some neerdowell bandit or thief. An imaginary weapon (most likely a knife by her grip) appears in her hand. “I’m afraid you’ll have to give me your valuable or PAY with your life!” Her tone is lowered, gravel mixed with laughter. She’s having a hard time keeping a straight face. How old is she, right now?! A moment later, she leans forward to support her palms against her knees. “Ahahaha, right good. Glad we’ve settled that.” Alvina dusts her hands together and rights herself again. “With that out of the way, Let me tell you a marvelous story about how one bard stumbled upon another who could grant him access to a secret bardic organization in these lands. Very hush hush, top level knowledge. Not for the faint of heart.” She leans in a step, index finger pressed to the side of her mouth. “Word on the street is you have to offer a performance to another member of the organization to be granted entrance but wowee, the perks are worth it.” Withdrawing, she clicks her tongue and gives him a thumbs up as if to say ‘totally worth it’. “So? Whadda ya think?”
Graham doesn’t skip a beat an follows along with Alvina’s threat - with overly dramatic flair. “Oh no! What ever shall I do?” His arms raise up as if to say I’m unarmed, but he’s clearly holding back from laughing. “Alright you two,” Dacron responds clearly not appreciating the scene presented. Even if his back is to them right now, he knows exactly what’s happening. When Alvina finally stops her laughter and responds with the whole performance thing, Graham has already moved on to his next joke. “Dacron, you thought she was cute right?” His attention moves to his partner. “You want to perform? I didn’t bring the inflatable balancing ball of glamour, but I think you still have a shot.” Dacron doesn’t even respond. Instead he walks away. “Awe, don’t be like that Dacron. I was only teasing.” It's no use, the centaur has moved away from their jabs. “Well, miss bard, I’d gladly perform for you, if there happens to be a tavern nearby? “There’s no need to serenade a lady all alone.”
Alvina’s hand rush to cover her mouth! “For Sven’s sake, I’m so sorry! I didn’t introduce myself!” She clears her throat, closes her eyes and balls her fist below her chin. This is serious concentration folks. Look at that stance! 9/10 out of the gate! Such form! Without opening her eyes, she gestures widely, as if addressing a crowd. A short, slow motion spin to add dramatic flair. “I am Alvina, the Silver bard!” Her metallic gold arm is now outstretched and it’s glint catches her attention. She fumbles, bad dismount to lower her score, and laughs while nervously flexing those golden digits. “The name was more appropriate before the upgrade.” Hilarious, this one. “But it’s a pleasure to meet you - “ A pause while she leans dramatically towards Dacron’s back. “BOTH of you. There’s a tavern further north in Frostmaw or just around the corner in Kelay.” There’s also one in Xalious that doubles as an inn but Alvina won’t go there. It’s off limits! “Pick your poison and get to performin’!”
Graham raises an eyebrow at her introduction and responds thusly. “I’d give your introduction a 7 and a half, but you fumbled there at the end. So I say a 6, but it’s a pleasure to meet you.” Graham offers a proper bow, as if she were royalty. What’s next, will they talk about her posture and walk? Is this a bards show similar to a dog competition? Are there judges? “As for poison, I’ve been to Kelay a few times and found that tavern rather boring. Let’s go to frostmaw if you don’t mind. I’ve not been there yet.” He has noticed her arm, but makes no mention of it. She is mildly odd. But then again, so is he. “Dacron, It’s time to go!” His four legged companion finally turns around in the distance and returns to Grahams side as he too begins to walk north.
Frostmaw Tavern
Alvina doesn’t quarrel about the score. She could! But she doesn’t. Down the short path, she explains a general overview of how the Bard’s guild operates and swears she’ll answer more questions after the ‘interview’ process. It goes like this - various bards have various specialties. They work together as a troupe of sort, sharing skills and stories, as well as tips and tricks when working certain regions. Plays or songs involving Frost Giants do better in Frostmaw, that sort of thing. If you play gigs or patch someone up, you’re welcome to set your own fees without paying a percentage to the guild in general. And as with most of these types of organizations - No set amount of time required, no dues are due to leave. When they reach the tavern, an exiting patron holds the door open for them and Alvina enters ahead of the pair and takes a seat at the bar with a knowing smile. “Any performance of your choice - Sing a war ballad, juggle some mugs, I’m not the demanding sort.” Graham has the attention of the head mistress and any of the scattered patrons who dare to watch.
Graham abruptly closes his eyes after entering the tavern, digesting the information given by Alvina. What will he perform? Both hands reach up to rake through his medium length raven hair - sweeping it back and out of his features. “Very well.” Graham had asked for more of a crowd, and well, here they are. In this whisper of time, those grey eyes reopen and harden in concentration. He marches to the stage without warning and begins the introductions. Graham takes up his position and waves his right hand to produce a miasma of magic. “For those of you that have gathered around, my name is Graham. I’m a wandering bard with a talent unlike most. So, allow me to weave a tale for you.” The previously mentioned magics colors are silver and blue, swirling together peacefully, but reach out to set the mood and creating two very distinct images. One is the silhouette of a woman, the other a man. This time, his left hand pulls forth more magic, and a cello appears floating on the stage next to Graham. The instruments notes begin to pluck themselves; egged on by the bards calling. An ambiance soon fills the tavern. One of longing, of loneliness, which might even fill the very core of those watching his performance. Graham intends to grip them all in his display of ability, no matter how much concentration he needs. “This is called Winters Ire, and it is a storied song written by myself.” All present should understand that his performance is just about to begin.
Alvina, for her part, keeps a careful eye on the magics surrounding and the performer. Her exterior is comical; leaned forward on a wobbling stool that balances just so, eyes wide with child-like wonder - but she’s no child. Nor is she easily impressed. This swirling magic is -interesting- and to hear a story she doesn’t know? Equally so. The bartender slides her a mug of water, which she chugs generously before turning her emerald gaze back to the newcomer Graham.
The magic spins the story of two lovers, man and woman; nothing of sinister intent lurks within it. It depicts the couples life with great detail. Everything the duo enjoyed together. Dancing, their home. Their family, and just how much the two really meant to each other. But suddenly, a sword plunges into the chest of this unknown woman, and she falls within the mans arms - only to disappear from view entirely. Now the cellos magic spins even more, sweeping even the patrons at the farthest walls in the emotion. But this is not all, for Grahams voice begins. “Deus Arkhen, You know that I'm a pious man, of which I've always had my self control.” An unseen choir sings foreign words in the distance - ‘Sed propter vos’. “Dea Delisha ,You know that I'm much weaker than a priestly saints inner world and soul.” Again the unseen back up choir sings - ‘Non sum, inanis’. “So tell me, Cyris, Why I see her standing there, just beyond my reach, beyond my hold?” Grahams priestly voice grows bolder and louder, filling with more emotion than before. “I see her and feel her. The moonlight sweeps her golden hair and she is growing in me, ever cold.” The music swells for the oncoming chorus. “Like frost. Winters Ire. Her memories chill these veins. This longing, is unholy. And soon I will break.” This whole time, the magically cast male is acting out Grahams words, as if speaking out to the gods.
Various patrons ooo and ahh. Winter word, always a bonus in Frostmaw. Alvina’s eyes have narrowed, watching the scene unfurl in a shadow puppet -like production that she rather enjoys. It adds an element of drama she hadn’t been prepared for. And while she wasn’t easy to impress, she did LOVE surprises. This was indeed a surprise. Though she’s crafted in the arts herself, she feels the tug of that magic swell and ebb within her, the call of an ocean’s wave along the shoreline. This stranger was no novice, that much was clear. She remains silent as the production progresses, making small mental notes for re-evaluation at the performances conclusion. .
Graham isn’t a novice, this much is true, but there is plenty which he still wishes to learn. There is much still left to master. Just when one might think the music would continue on the swell, its dies back down into the mood setting tones of the previous verse. The magical silhouette falls to his knees, with visible tears in his eyes, but anger begins to fill his movements. Graham continues to sing softly to the music. “Dea Delisha, Why must you curse these hands and strip a man of all that he holds dear? Deus Arkhen, Why must you take the light, the honor and the purpose of mans life?” Like before Grahams voice grows louder and more bold. “So tell me, Cyris, why strip away my freedom and leave me with nothing but this pain?” The music swells much like before, and the illusion of a man stands looking towards the heavens as if cursing them. “Like frost. Winters Ire. Her memories chill my veins. This longing, is unholy. And soon I will break.” Where the music slowed before, this time it does not. Instead the chorus goes on, sweeping waves of emotion through the gathered people. Sorrow and anger. “Her thoughts. Her mind. Have all, gone cold! Her tombstone, abandoned, and took with it my home. Like frost. Winters Ire, she has left me all alone. This longing, is unholy and soon I will fade.” Finally Grahams singing comes to an end, but the arcane depicting of the man before him changes to a different image. A forest, and the shadow of a man, hanging from a noose beneath a big oak tree. Thusly, the song fades, and the emotion being conveyed for the entertainment of his performance stops - leaving those without his induced feelings. The bard moves off the stage, whether anyone enjoyed his performance or not and stops near Alvina. “This is my Bardic art.” Grahams voice is soft, but his eyes still carry the twisted reality of sadness within them, as always. Like the grey skies of a storming sea which has the power to capsize boats. Does Graham ever sing about happiness?
The patrons of Frostmaw’s Tavern gasp with surprise at the bitter ending of the song. Truly, the warrior citizens had not anticipated such an end for the grieving man who’d lost his love. Alvina’s comic stance had faded at some point during the performance and she sat, legs laced together at the ankles, with narrowed eyes. Everything about her demeanour denotes more age than her visible 20 or so years. Her voice, too, has become more sobered and aged. Bright green eyes reconsider the odd man she’d met in Xalious anew. “Quite a sad song,” She notes unironically. It’s obvious but still of note. One might not know from first impressions but the lady had a penchant for the bittersweet. Maybe that’s a common fascination for those of the arts. Who is she to say? Her arms cross and she nods, a silent consideration taking place behind that otherwise easy gaze. “I dare say I’m impressed.” Not to be taken lightly, this sentiment. “And as such, I’d be honored to invite you to our ranks.” The fog of emotions start to clear and with a shake of her head, she recovers. Her dark dress and overly large sundress are out of place in the fur-lined, armored men and woman who otherwise occupied the tavern. “A well crafted art indeed.” She adds, an expression of longing backlighting her eyes. Before it clears, she reaches into her satchel and extends a gleaming pipe. “Official token of membership, and all that.” Her tone is lighter than before, unburdened by the grief he’d shared.
Graham studies Alvina and her words, with an expression void of the story he had just told. Despite the struggle it takes to dredge up the past, does he speak of where his art comes from? Does he tell her, that he is the man depicted in that story? No. He does however, study her eyes and the emotions that he guesses might be within them. “It’s an art that sort of fell into my lap. I’ve witnessed a lot of similarly sad stories, and thought the world should see another side.” It can’t always be flowers, puppies and unicorn farts right? “And thank you.” He takes up her offered token of membership. “Where does the rest of the group meet?” Is there a headquarters of sorts or does he need to hunt them all down and introduce himself?
Alvina scoots off the stool, her flats tapping the floor to steady her. “The guild headquarters isn’t too far off.” She hands him a slip of parchment with the directions. It’ll lead him to the lodge, where bards gather to practice and exchange ideas. A cozy common room with lush couches and warm fires. “You can post on the board there or just wait around for others to filter in.” Another item is retrieved from her satchel, this one much larger. “Another item appropriate item.” She offers him an enchanted lyre, which would serve as a key to the lounge. “I look forward to seeing you there soon.” Her smile is bright but there’s still a shadow over her demeanor. A lingering ache in her heart from his words. “It’s been a pleasure.” Her words ring true. “I can’t wait to see how your stories unfold.”
Graham nods to Alvina and accepts the item. “I hope to see you there soon.” He glances to the offered items and then back to her. Finally, that perfect smile stretches across his features. “It’s just a story..” His voice calm and velvety smooth. “Don’t linger on it for too long?” Perhaps it matched up with something from her own past? Perhaps not. Either way, Graham bows. “It was a pleasure to meet you Alvina. Thank you for the chance.” Without further word Graham moves towards the giant barkeep -literally- and orders himself something to drink. He assumed that she has other important matters to take care of, but if she wasn’t leaving, he would indeed enjoy her company.
Alvina would love to linger, but as these things go, her family is waiting for her in Cenril. His voice is convincing, but there is a thread of doubt lingering in her mind. All stories are stemmed in truth, no matter how good the performer. Actors, singers, professional mask wearers. The lot of them. “All of life is a chance.” She smiles, offering a small wave to Graham and his Centaur companion before braving the snow in her mismatch attire. Snow filters in a cape of Crimson curls before the door to the tavern thunders closed behind her.