Uncle Otho would insist that, "If you can't explain it, it must be magic." Uncle Otho was a generous man and a wise teacher, I owe him a great debt of which, I can never repay. But alas, it wasn't the magic that stole my young heart, it was the music. A beautiful symphony, that touched every fibre of my being. I knew that wherever I was, with this feeling in my heart, I would be home. Ok well, that's not entirely truthful, her name was Tallis. She was the most beautiful person I have ever seen, a halfling like myself. She had a slender figure, full chest and beautiful, wondrous ice blue eyes. Her hair was a deep red, the color of an overripe apple. She stole my heart the instant I put my eyes on her. She had an easy grace about her, like a water dancer. She possessed a wit that would leave you dumbfounded for moments after she left.
The troupe unpacked their high covered wagons with a familiar ease, and in no time at all the stage was set up. I couldn't recall what plays they did, or what songs were sung, even though I could make some fairly educated guesses. I can tell you that the moment they finished their performance and started to pack up, I was on my way to my house to get my few prized positions. My hair comb, a present from Mrs. Westington, the lonely reverend's wife. She was such a sinful woman, I miss her sometimes. I also grabbed my hat. A floppy baker boys cap, not an uncommon sight in my town, that I bought with my first hard earnings. Lastly my small pouch with a fist full of copper pieces and few silver coins. In a blur of words, and a rush of goodbyes, I left my father and mother in a teary eyed, state of confusion. I think of them quite often, and wonder if they ever understood.
Camp life was a lot more work than I was expecting. With chores and all the different training, it was hard to find time for Tallis. She would help me memorize my lines for the few plays I was in, along with a few poems. I would not be the man I am today without Otho Loggens or best know as Uncle Otho. Otho was a fair teacher, you couldn't help but respect him, a master showmen. He taught me musical accompaniment on the lute, half harp,and the flute, I hate the flute. With a voice as gentle as a whisper of wind, or as powerful as thunder on a stormy summer night, he would instantly command a room, eyes drawn to him even in a crowded hall. He would build a crowd to cheering and hollering, with a retelling of ‘Ser Barrios the Bland’ or, the silent anticipation, just before the big reveal in ‘The Last Silent Saint’. But it wasn't until you wept as he played, ‘A Lovers Last Kiss’ on his mandolin. That you truly understood what this man was capable of.
Uncle Otho's statement stays true "If you can't explain it, it must be magic." Otho's mandolin was a piece of art just as much as it was a instrument. It had a polished ebony body with fine gold accents, ivory pick board and gold tuning pegs. The light on stage would catch the shine of the gold leaf, inlaid into the notes carved along the curve of the body, to the ornate scroll on top. A riff reserved for the trouper with the most colored patches,titled ‘The Show Master’, who also was the leader of the troupe. Uncle Otho had more patches than any three members combined, and led the troupe for as long as anyone could remember. A new color was earned for every new talent you mastered, as long as three higher patched members agreed you were worthy. The leader of ‘The Wandering Note’ had ultimate say when awarding or refusing a patch. I never stopped learning when I was around Uncle Otho, so it wasn't long before I earned my first patch. Flute, the light blue patch. Otho's endless wisdom stated, "When you master a instrument you hate, it only feeds the passion towards the instrument you truly love." He took me under his wing and taught me everything I know to this day about the art of performing, everything except real magic. I had to learn that on my own, but that comes later in the story.
After I earned my first patch, my hunger for the next, drove me until I acquired that color. Otho was always eager to point out wherever I needed improvement, to retain the next patch. After the first year of travelling with ‘The Wandering Note’, I was well on my way up the ranks. By my third year, I had enough patches to have a seat on the high council, a group of 5 troupers as well as the Show Master, in charge of making the set lists, plotting travel arrangements and settling disagreements.
By this time Tallis and I were spending every moment of our free time together. When we weren't running lines or practicing our instruments, we would take long walks or just lay back and watching the clouds go by. At just over the five year mark, I had the second most patches in the troupe, as well as the most beautiful young wife. Tallis and I got married on a warm autumn evening, a traditional trouper ceremony. A few repeated words in front of all twenty-five of the troupe, followed by a night of festivities. Speeches followed more speeches, which were in turn lead to music, poetry, sword play and acts of daring. All the while, everyone was heavily in their cups and having a most memorable time.
Autumn turned to winter, winter to spring and spring to summer, the years started to flow past in a happy bliss. It was shortly after my twenty fifth birthday, ten short years after joining the ‘Wandering Note’, that I truly got the greatest news of my life. Better than any patch, standing ovation or cap full of gold. I was going to be a father.
Seven months after our big news, the troupe rolled into Faltone, a huge city surrounded by high stone walls. We set up camp outside the walls, so we wouldn't have to pay the city tax, a fee performers and entertainers are charged for camping within the secure walls. Our troupe was used to sleeping on the road, so it wasn't a big deal to be outside. You could pay the tax if you were so inclined to do so, but most of the troupers enjoyed spending time in camp. We arrived at the walls just before dark, Tallis and I quickly set up our tent. Everyone was bustling, going over their parts and songs for the next show. It was scheduled for the next evening, at Lord Halfred's Manor. That night, laying in bed next to Tallis, I noticed she was rather restless. I asked her if everything is was right, she assures me in her easy way that everything is fine. This goes back and forth a while, until she shares with me a feeling she's had. She tells me that she knows we are having a baby girl.
The next morning proceeds as usual, breakfast and chores, followed by a meeting with the High Counsel. The council meeting ran a bit late, with all the preparations to ensure the evening festivities ran smoothly. Once free from the meeting, I made my way through the camp back to Tallis. We sat and had a brief lunch, making idle conversation about what was discussed at the meeting. After we finished eating, we cleaned up. I told Tallis I was going into the city, to buy a birthing present for our child. I invite her to come, but she says being pregnant, walking all that way, and having the performance in the evening, is just too much.
Before I depart, I grab my cap, comb, patchwork travelling cloak, lastly I tie on my coin pouch. Giving my hair a quick comb, I threw on my cap and out the tent I went. As I stroll towards the edge of camp, Tallis called out to me "Monique! I want to name her Monique." I stopped walking and looked back at my beautiful wife. A smile painted on my face, she smiled right back.
As I made my way through the bustling city, looking for the perfect birthing present for my daughter, a couple hours of searching small shops and boutiques, I came across a most unique music shop. Good merchants are rare. Good merchants selling musical instruments and accessories are unheard of. Most shops that sell musical equipment will sell second hand supplies, but not in this shop. This shop was run by two men, one tall, narrow shouldered human named, Royan and Dorn, a stout, barrel chested dwarf. Both men are master craftsmen. With Royan specializing in woodworking and Dorn a metalsmith, together they make the finest instruments I have ever held in my hands. Not only do they make beautiful instruments, Dorn makes the highest quality strings. Be it for lute, leer, harp, half harp or mandolin, Dorn makes the best. Upon entering the shop, I was greeted with a warm welcome, instantly being recognized as a performer due to my brightly colored cloak. Looking over their wares and making polite conversation with the two gentleman, I purchase some strings and a gift for Otho.
I then pick up a leer and start to play ‘Hills of Everlyfield’. Both men stop the little tinkering they were doing, stood still and listened to the song in its entirety. Once the final cord was struck, they started talking at once. Both men say different words, but meaning the same thing. The stock they have on show up front is no better than swill. The real instruments are in the back workshop. The back room consisted of a large workbench covered in tools and random stacks of blueprints. The back corner of the room was the cellar, held fast by two doors. These doors were made of wood, banded in iron too. The doors were locked tight by two fist sized padlocks. Royan ushered me to the workbench, grabbed some stools and bid me to sit down. After a brief moment of cleaning a space for us to sit, Royan went into the cabinet next to the workbench. When he came back, he had a bottle of dark brown liquor and three finely crafted cups. At this time Dorn was over at the cellar fumbling around with keys, getting the doors unlocked. After he got down the cellar steps, he proceeded to bring out leather covered cases. Royan would open each case and inspect its contents, before passing it to me. In each of these cases was a masterfully crafted instrument. First of which, was a leer. It was beautiful, but also paled in comparison to the next. This went on for quite a while. Spectacular instrument followed spectacular instrument, and my time started to run short.
I insisted that all of the products they had showed me were exquisite, and I couldn't choose. Dorn insisted I stay for one more drink, to give him a chance to convince me to buy something. I politely agreed and sat back down at the table. This time Royan went to look through their stock. When he returned he had a victorious look on his face. "I found it, for this is the piece you cannot deny." he chided with a sly look. Royan placed the finely crafted leather case in front of me. I undid the clasps, and opened the lid. Inside was the most beautiful mandolin I ever laid eyes upon. Made of a rosewood body with a beautiful sunburst finish. It had a ebony pick board and ivory tuning pegs. We haggled over the price for awhile, but my visit with Royan and Dorn had taken far longer than originally anticipated. If I hurried I wouldn't miss my first performance. Once I left the shop, coin pouch significantly lighter, and the perfect birthing present for my child, safely inside its leather case. With no time to drop my stuff off at camp, I made my way to Lord Halfred's Manor.
With the instrument case still in my hand, I made my way up the long cobblestone walk, towards Halfred's Manor. Two large men each in full plate armour, stood guard at the front door. Each had a halberd in hand and a longsword at their hip. By the time I got close enough, I noticed them to both to be Orcs. "Halt!" The first commanded in a deep, booming voice, the second then spoke up, "This a private party, puny man, you no invited,"
I put on my best smile, and strode purposefully towards the two large creatures. Orcs are stupid and easily manipulated, simple as that. Most importantly, they are easily amused. I told them that I was one of the performers, I proceeded to show them my colorful patchwork cloak. Reminding them that all the other performers wore a similar style clothing. After an elaborate flourish of my cloak, I drew their attention to the gold coin now in my hand. With practiced ease I made the coin disappear. They agreed that without a doubt I was part of the group, but were under strict orders. No one is to enter the house, without leave of the master. After some sly words, I convinced the first Orc to go inside and get permission to let me in. While we stood in complete silence, the only sound was that of the Orcs heavy breathing. I decided to break the silence. "What is taking him so long! He has been gone for almost fifteen minutes!" When in reality it was more like 3 minutes.
"He a stoopid Orc, never do anything right," the lone Orc grumbled, "me will find master for you." With that the other Orc pushed open the heavy oak doors, and went inside. I waited twenty heartbeats after the door clanged shut, and I slipped inside after him. The foyer of the manor was that befitting a lord. The walls were covered with rich tapestries. There was also exquisite suits of armour, polished to a high sheen. The walls were all quarried stone, while the floor was marble, so smooth it looked as if it were made of glass. The walls to my side had doors set into alcoves, spaced evenly, three on each side. Directly in front of me, down a elegant red carpet, stood two enormous wood doors, similar to the one I used to enter the house. The only difference was these doors were a great deal bigger. The two Orc guards were nowhere to be seen, so I crossed the carpet to the massive oak doors, gently I pushed on the handle.
I opened the door just wide enough to slip through and shut it fast behind myself. It's the smell I always remember first, the metallic scent of blood, intermingled with shit and fear. It was death, and lots of it. I can still see the bodies. I don't even have to try and remember. Twenty-six rainbow islands, in an ocean of blood. There were other bodies to be sure. Lord Halfred, his lady wife, his children and their servants. I don't recall much about them, my eyes were only for her. She looked so tiny, despite being so pregnant, my beautiful Tallis. Next thing I know, I'm at her side. Her eyes were open, but there was no rise and fall in her chest. I touched her face, kissed her lips, but the spell wasn't lifted. Nor would it.
Then I heard the same heavy breathing from outside. "Oye! Whatcha tink yur doin, tiny man?" Growled the big dumb bastard. I just ignored him, not bothering to even look up. The Orc says some other things, and after a while walks away. What feels like an eternity passes, before I heard a sound. Armoured boots echoing through the hall. Them I'm being hauled to my feet and dragged away from her. I thrashed and bit at the gauntlets that held me. I was a crazed animal. The room swam as a mailed fist cracked the back of my skull. I came to, head screaming in pain. Slowly the room came into focus.
I'm in what looks to be the lords study, full bookcases cover the walls, except for the area of fireplace, opposite the door. In front of the fireplace were two leather armchairs, with a small table in between. I am roughly placed in one of the chairs. Opposite me sat a woman I have never seen before, she offered me a drink. She gestured to the crystal ware on the table, I declined. Behind her stood two Orcs, both in full armour, longswords at their hips, both loose in the scabbards. She begins by telling me that it was nothing personal. That Lord Halfred made some bad deals, deals that he could no longer honour. Which resulted in a debt, only to be paid in blood. Halfred thought that the lives of our troupe could cover what he owed, he was wrong.
"You should be thankful," she said, "that the little whelp was with child." I stare at her, expression of pure venom, wishing her dead. "The debt is paid, your life is yours to do with as you choose." She shifted in her seat, "one condition. First you must play me a song." It was at this point I realized, I still had a white knuckle grip of the case of the mandolin. "Master said play music, half man!" one of the Orcs growled, as he lifted me out of the chair, shoving me to stand in front of this vile bitch.
"One song," I proclaimed, "and the bodies of the performers are also mine. To do with as I please." She just stared at me, her face an unreadable mask.
"No, I will have my song, or your head.", was her only response. Defeated, I opened the leather case. Ever so gently I lift the instrument out. Brushing my fingers gently down the body. One by one, I pluck each strings. Adjusting the tuning as I went. After a brief moment, everything was in tune. The only thing left to do is play. What should I play?
After an awkward moment of silence I ask, "Any requests?", in a casual tone, just like we are old friends.
Her tight lips curls into an even tighter smile, "Surprise me," she replies, a hint of amusement in her voice. So I played.
Of the thousands of songs I know, I choose the only song I have never played. Even though I have never played it, it is forever engraved into the fabric of my mind. It was always there whenever Otho would teach me. It was there, staring back at me. Every time Otho had his mandolin out, it was there. And I played it, the song of ‘The Wandering Note’. My fingers danced along the strings as I played, unwavering to the last note. Once the last note was struck, time itself stood still. Not in any figurative way. Everything actually stopped, everything except for me. After a dozen heartbeats, I caught movement out of the corner of my eye. I turned my head to see if I could spot it, but saw nothing.
I returned my focus back to the chair with the woman, but my view was blocked. A figure in a black robe is floated in front of me. The robe was billowing out around the eerie figure, more shadow than fabric. It raised it's hands towards its cowled face, placing one on each side of the hood. Drawing it back, his face was that of a human man. "Give you a right good scare, I did!", said the man with a friendly face. Followed by a long belly laugh, "Shoulda seen yer face, classic!" After he recomposed himself, he went on, "Well, I'm Milili. God of music, poetry, love and blah, blah, blah, titles, titles, titles." Making a rolling wrist motion with each word. "And you must be the new leader of The Wandering Note!" Before I even had a chance to say anything, he kept talking. "I always loved that tune," and he started whistling it to himself. "Damn! Now it'll be stuck in my head for weeks!"
I take a few steps forward, waving my hand to get his attention. "Excuse me, what is all this? I still really don't understand...well any of what is going on right now!" He just looked at me with a blank expression.
"Cheeky bastard, that Otho, trying to take a jab at me, classic!" He runs his hand through his hair.
"No jab, sir m'lord," I say, a look of confusion on my face.
I won't recount our entire conversation, but he went on to tell me the history of ‘The Wandering Note’. That the art of music had been passed down through the ages, student to teacher. But have you ever wondered why it came to be. Milili claimed that he was directly involved. He said he taught the original seven, the art of performing. He taught each of them a different song, but all a connection to him directly. These songs were to be handed down, from teacher to student, but only if that student was worthy of teaching the next generation. As time went on, song after song slowly disappeared from history, until only a few remained. When a student is chosen as successor. The teacher then shares the song, thus passing on the musical bond. The new master may only summon the musical spirit once, when this happens, you must agree to pass your knowledge to a worthy candidate. Once the agreement is made, you may ask one favor of Milili. As long as it doesn't result in personal gain, the favor takes effect, the next time the song is performed.
After Milili finishes explaining everything to me, he goes quiet, waiting for me to say something, anything. "Oh, umm... I accept?" Is all I can think to say. Milili cracks a wide smile, and nods in agreement. He then tells me that I am to be marked. As a sign of the connection between myself, the music and him. He bids me to choose where I shall receive the mark. Most masters choose to mark their instrument he says, Otho marked his mandolin, and his teacher before him, his violin. Some people choose to mark other prized possessions, heirlooms or trinkets. The decision is left entirely up to me. I point to my wrist, and in a smooth motion. I wind my finger up my forearm, like a spring.
"I have not marked a vessels body in nigh a century. You are quite brave," a curious look upon his face, "the pain will be great."
I am now the one to smile and nod. The pain was incredible, like a hot brand, searing my flesh. The musical notes that once outlined Otho's mandolin, now swirled up my arm. From wrist to elbows they carved their way into my skin. My wounded arm does not bleed. In fact the scars looked old, like I've always had them. The pain is fresh though. What is one more spoonful of hurt, when you are lost, adrift in a ocean of agony.
"You and I are now one," the strange, yet familiar man said, "just as the singer and the song are one." He dusted his hands together, to signal completion. "And what shall you get in return, for your easy cooperation?" He pondered.
I looked up, locking eyes, "I want justice, for all the wrong that has occurred this night." Anger building inside me. "I want DESTRUCTION, I WANT VENGEANCE!" Milili rubbed his hands together, mouth turned up at one side.
A mischievous grin, "Well m'boy, that I can do."
Time returns to normal, and with that, movement returns to the room. She is sitting there staring at me. Exactly like she was moments ago, before I begun to play. Her tight lips curls into the same tight smile. "Surprise me," she says again, a hint of amusement still in her voice. So I play, my fingers dance along the strings.
The same as the first time, but this time everything is different. As the song draws to its end, before I pluck the last note, "Surprise" is all I say. When the last note rings through the study, everything then goes quiet. The room fills with an energy, not unlike the feeling before a huge thunderstorm. Raw, untamed power. The books on the bookshelf begin to rattle. The crystalware shifts on the table, then cracks. The Orc guards move to draw their weapons, but the energy grows rapidly. Forcing them backwards against the wall. The chairs including the one with the woman, start moving backwards. Scouring deep trenches into the marble floor. A look of pure horror is on her face. I mimic her tight lipped smile. All the dust and debris scattered along the floor slowly starts to float. At first it's merely inches above the marble, but continues upward. The ground lurched under my feet, the marble cracking and splintering. It looks like a great spiderweb. The unruly force kept building. Growing around me, pushing everything away for me. The power surged, in a great pulse. The destruction instantly followed. All the marble around me turned to dust, exposing the dirt underneath. It was as if a great giant was pushing a massive plow through a field. The ground peeled away and the great force expanded, leaving nothing but a fine dust in its wake. Neither the Orcs, nor the woman could do anything to stop it. It disintegrated everything around me. The floor peeled away so only dirt remained. The walls, roof and bodies, all turned to nothingness. The destruction didn't stop at the walls of the manor. It kept spreading, destroying the entire estate. The nearby fabric district and most of the north wall of the city. It left the ground barren and smoking. Nothing remained but a fine dust, lightly falling all around me, slowly covering up the devastation, like a grey snowfall.
I stood directly in the middle of it all, on a little pillar. Topped with cracked and broken marble. My knees are weak, my hands are trembling, I drop to the ground. It's the only thing I can do. I whisper her name, "Tallis," looking at the mandolin in my shaking hands, I mouth "Sweet Monique" and I began to sob. I too died that day, just as all the members of my troupe died. It was that day I discarded my old name and left my old life behind. Like a hermit crab leaving its shell, so to did I move on.
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