Zi'da 31, 717
This wasn't his seat any longer, and yet he sat in it. This wasn't his job anymore, and yet he'd been welcomed back for just a few more visits, familiar faces eager to see him, to smile, and, most of all, to listen. Pash settled into to the comfortable chair next to the crackling, necessary fire in front of the large window in Cally's, having made his way through the wind and the snow just because the truth was, somehow they'd been waylaid again. And again.
Now that they'd procured a larger boat, a schooner, The Songbird, this bitter cold trial had been spent moving and re-settling. He'd built some custom things into The Muse that would have to be re-created: frozen food storage using snow crystals, cold storage using green sand, and containers for more gardening. These things would give him something else to do while sailing for trials on end as long as the weather was good, but in some ways, everything had begun to feel like the doldrums. Every step forward to leaving was blown backwards with frozen wind. Kali'rial was ready to travel, to chase the familiar that haunted her dreams and called longingly for her. Pash was ready to see new sights and, most of all, to go home again, strangely enough. He longed for something he couldn't put into words quite yet, but it hummed in the hull of his chest and made the smell of the salty sea more alluring than the hearth fire he sat next to.
Still, the seafaring musician just couldn't stay away from the sorts of things that had brought him comfort over the handful of seasons he'd been in Scalvoris. Cally's was, of course, both a place and an experience he would miss dearly, and yet as he tuned the red glass lute he'd decided to bring to the restaurant, he felt the tension of restlessness that had slowly crept into the tangle of his existence as the seasons had worn on. The threads of longing and impatience had taken root in his emotional landscape, reaching to choke out the more hopeful eagerness he'd rather be feeling.
So, even as he adjusted the courses to make sure his new lute with its haunting tones and lovely resonance would play perfectly for the evening, Pash also began to tune his own tangle, the emotions that ebbed and flowed around him while customers began to stagger in from the cold and the snow both fuel and distraction. Without concentrating, he could feel everyone in the room, their immediate, surface emotions tickling his Spark-granted senses, washes of color like the streaks that marked his calloused fingers.
Satisfied with his preparation, the tall Biqaj rolled his sea-built shoulders and closed his eyes, letting the threads that he sought to tie away disappear underneath the warmer, more positive feelings he was more comfortable with nurturing. He let his fingers meander the courses of his lute, really enjoying the sharper notes the glass lute seemed to produce, his first melody a quiet, meandering tune that felt very much like how the wind played over the frigid waves of the harbor.
The seafaring musician recognized that the delicate glass lute had a different voice, but that he'd yet to really find it. So used to the robust warmth of a wooden instrument, the tinkling, crisp notes of the Eligrun lute could be described as somewhat haunting. While the restaurant was still not very full of customers and while darkness settled over the snow outside in the square, Pash strung notes together with masterful ease, Empathy-stained, calloused fingers moving over the courses not with his typical familiarity so much as with curious exploration, testing the limits of the glass lute while still attempting to keep his small audience from hating his presence, careful to keep a harmonious sound drifting quietly through Cally's just below the level of conversation for the earliest of patrons to enjoy.
A face here. A smile there. People he'd gotten to know over the seasons, people who had once been strangers and now knew him by name. People who had once been mysteries now shared their feelings with him in ways he'd never imagined, all without their knowing. He read them. He saw them. He felt them. Settling at their tables. Considering the menu. Smiling at Trudi. Chuckling at her flirtatious words.
The ebb and flow of their emotions changed his music, shifted it in subtle ways that even the tall Biqaj wasn't even conscious of. He was the medium, the meditative filter, and the room communicated to him their desires which in turn became the melodious, liquid sound that warmed their hearts, one note at a time.
Now that they'd procured a larger boat, a schooner, The Songbird, this bitter cold trial had been spent moving and re-settling. He'd built some custom things into The Muse that would have to be re-created: frozen food storage using snow crystals, cold storage using green sand, and containers for more gardening. These things would give him something else to do while sailing for trials on end as long as the weather was good, but in some ways, everything had begun to feel like the doldrums. Every step forward to leaving was blown backwards with frozen wind. Kali'rial was ready to travel, to chase the familiar that haunted her dreams and called longingly for her. Pash was ready to see new sights and, most of all, to go home again, strangely enough. He longed for something he couldn't put into words quite yet, but it hummed in the hull of his chest and made the smell of the salty sea more alluring than the hearth fire he sat next to.
Still, the seafaring musician just couldn't stay away from the sorts of things that had brought him comfort over the handful of seasons he'd been in Scalvoris. Cally's was, of course, both a place and an experience he would miss dearly, and yet as he tuned the red glass lute he'd decided to bring to the restaurant, he felt the tension of restlessness that had slowly crept into the tangle of his existence as the seasons had worn on. The threads of longing and impatience had taken root in his emotional landscape, reaching to choke out the more hopeful eagerness he'd rather be feeling.
So, even as he adjusted the courses to make sure his new lute with its haunting tones and lovely resonance would play perfectly for the evening, Pash also began to tune his own tangle, the emotions that ebbed and flowed around him while customers began to stagger in from the cold and the snow both fuel and distraction. Without concentrating, he could feel everyone in the room, their immediate, surface emotions tickling his Spark-granted senses, washes of color like the streaks that marked his calloused fingers.
Satisfied with his preparation, the tall Biqaj rolled his sea-built shoulders and closed his eyes, letting the threads that he sought to tie away disappear underneath the warmer, more positive feelings he was more comfortable with nurturing. He let his fingers meander the courses of his lute, really enjoying the sharper notes the glass lute seemed to produce, his first melody a quiet, meandering tune that felt very much like how the wind played over the frigid waves of the harbor.
The seafaring musician recognized that the delicate glass lute had a different voice, but that he'd yet to really find it. So used to the robust warmth of a wooden instrument, the tinkling, crisp notes of the Eligrun lute could be described as somewhat haunting. While the restaurant was still not very full of customers and while darkness settled over the snow outside in the square, Pash strung notes together with masterful ease, Empathy-stained, calloused fingers moving over the courses not with his typical familiarity so much as with curious exploration, testing the limits of the glass lute while still attempting to keep his small audience from hating his presence, careful to keep a harmonious sound drifting quietly through Cally's just below the level of conversation for the earliest of patrons to enjoy.
A face here. A smile there. People he'd gotten to know over the seasons, people who had once been strangers and now knew him by name. People who had once been mysteries now shared their feelings with him in ways he'd never imagined, all without their knowing. He read them. He saw them. He felt them. Settling at their tables. Considering the menu. Smiling at Trudi. Chuckling at her flirtatious words.
The ebb and flow of their emotions changed his music, shifted it in subtle ways that even the tall Biqaj wasn't even conscious of. He was the medium, the meditative filter, and the room communicated to him their desires which in turn became the melodious, liquid sound that warmed their hearts, one note at a time.
