A Siren Song of Stars and Souls

[Vanessa LaNore]

Vanessa always found Verdant Row an exciting and ephemeral place. Everything from the scenery to the crowd formed an ever-shifting canvas for intrigue and discovery. A nexus where the strange met the adventurous in a brief dance before departing to destinations as varied as the stars in the sky. She found the place at its most enjoyable in the early hours of the evening. The twilight before cups were drained and beds filled was a time for magic of the social sort.

The mystery behind each person’s eyes held a chance at a story, an opportunity, a lead just waiting to be uncovered. The haggard man leaning against the building just in the shadows could be an informant of the noble houses, a wandering vagrant looking to rob, a ranger returning from the deep wilds, or simply a drunk without the coin to actually catch anything but a turnip cart home. All of these seemed equally likely in the rapidly fading light amidst the ghostly visages and mind-bending buildings of Verdant Row.

On this particular evening Vanessa found herself without a purpose. She had intended to meet her ranger contact for a trip into the deep jungles of Ninraih. Sadly, the train had not arrived, and the operators expected it had suffered a serious delay. This was not entirely uncommon for the route into the jungles; from vines to vicious beasts, there were many dangers that could halt a train.

So there she stood, without a purpose but to wait, outside one of the more memorable buildings in the Row. As she looked up at the odd angles of the Heartbroken Socks Inn, she was all too aware that the itch in her fingers was merely a phantom annoyance; a soul-deep desire to fill the area with attention-catching song appropriate for the hour and place.

Vanessa was a scholar and researcher, one who spent her time among the walls of Fellsgard. One who so rarely was able to stretch her talents without the nagging fear of being discovered and put to question or death. And yet here she stood, itching to unleash her magic upon the world and face the consequence with a smile and song.

In all her travels Vanessa had learned many things. The most fundamental truth she knew remained that a bard and summoner without a task was a terribly dangerous thing; the sort of thing whose existence was simply begging the idols for trouble.

[Ciaran]

The tall half-elemental wandering the spirit-filled streets of Verdant Row was once again clothed in his pale, moonlit Aura that was just Lumeacia enough to be seen as elvish and yet somewhat strangely out of place from a people he couldn't entirely call his people. Ciaran could only say of himself that he was as vaguely reminiscent of an elf as he was vaguely able to remember glimpses of the woman he who may have been his mother. She was a fleeting image in dreams and a flicker of memory in meditation, but that was it.

He'd once assumed he had been born in the shape his Aura appeared in but eventually had come to realize his magical nature was somehow mingled with the primal elements of the universe itself—both and neither. Not that he felt displaced by his lack of claim on either race so much as a unique stake in both: whatever had once been frightening about his dual nature had, through self-discipline and careful training, become a comfort instead.

That said, his well-honed confidence served him little of value in his current predicament, for Ciaran found himself without purpose in a strange town that had been built by listless undead who'd attempted to find purpose in its building.

This was not the first time the train had ever been late to reach a station, and while Ciaran had made sure to arrive hours before he was expected to, carefully wrapped parcel of rebound books in a satchel waiting for one of his once-master's oldest customers, a well-aged fae he hoped would perhaps have some leads on who would have ever called Vesivus an enemy or wanted the man he'd once come to consider a father dead.

There was little to do but perhaps find somewhere to sit idly, and the half-elemental knew that the Heartbroken Socks Inn, regardless of its useless name, was always full of interesting conversation and a brimming menu of strange drinks as ancient and unusual as the kinds of books, tomes, and scrolls he'd been raised to care for, restore, study, and trade for a living.

The first stars were already out and the sun had long set, the sweet whispers of Ny'tha's comfortable mantle of night clothing the half-elemental into restlessness beneath the moonlit skin he wore in his Aural form. It was freeing to be far from home in Fellsgard, to feel lightened of the burden of secrecy that he normally had to shroud his magical nature in like a veil, though it wasn't as though he was the sort to simply express himself in full view of the world, either—too many years of struggle on the streets as a child had taught him to be careful with his openness.

The Heartbroken Socks was brimming with patrons at this hour, some well into their aged spirits, some spirits themselves, and some hoping to perhaps taste a little of both worlds before the night was through. It was nearly impossible to find anything resembling a quiet corner, and so the tall sliver of starlight made his graceful way toward the bar, the hint of a smile gracing his aquiline features as he settled into a seat clearly made for more human than elvish shape, knees awkwardly high once he folded himself into the stool.

Ciaran studied faces, watched conversations and body language, curious and observant, just aloof enough to stay distant.

The spectral barkeep was glancing at him with cursory necessity, clearly wondering if the pale creature wanted something to drink, but the young monk admittedly had no idea what to order—an extensive list had been crammed above the bar in hastily written chalk, complete with the evening's specials in various colors and type treatments. The half-elemental found himself admiring the handwriting, studying the kerning and the rather clever use of serifs, wondering if whoever had written it was familiar with moveable type or books or—

Oh.

He was supposed to be ordering something.

"Considering I have been surprisingly caught off guard by this entire evening, how about something of your choosing—and from Ninraih?"

"You sure?" The barkeep squinted, doubtful by his tone.

Ciaran smiled, almost shyly, and nodded, leaning his elbows against the sticky, crooked bartop made of so many different materials it was a wonder it even held together at all. He opened his mouth again to make a more specific request, to narrow the field of choosing a little, when from behind him someone ran their fingers melodiously over the keys of the Inn's dilapidated by ridiculously well-tuned piano, filling the entire tavern-like lower floor with a warm sound that reverberated through chest cavities and resonated against the hearts of the living bodies.

"I'm sure I've got somethin'. Jus' wait." The barkeep grinned, noting the elf's slip in attention. With a thoughtful wink, he turned to rummage through bottles with dusty old labels, casks with peeling bindings, and other questionably ancient containers that somehow still managed to hold any liquids at all.

"I've got nothing else to do—but wait—so I might as well." Murmured Ciaran without any hint of resentment in the rich baritone of his voice (it was more to himself than to anyone in particular anyway), settling against the bar further and letting his colorful gaze come into focus on the strange piano and even stranger pianist.

[Vanessa LaNore]

Vanessa heard the first ringing tones of a piano drifting out of the Heartbroken Socks Inn and shivered involuntarily. Someone was about to unleash a piece of music that could move the spirit of even the sober. She grinned and turned to move up the steps and into the disjointed ground floor when Kip swirled around her head, making her miss the second step and stumble.

Her eyes went wide, not realizing she’d summoned the spirit and wondering how he had materialized. A second warm up chord echoed through the air and Vanessa felt the tug at her magic this time. Kip purred in excitement and her grin grew even wider. She strode into the inn bubbling with excitement, her eyes alight with orange fire.

The inside was terribly crowded, but the normal bustle of drinking seemed to have become muted as many of the patrons looked over to the pianist. The ghost of a man was wiggling his spectral fingers and tapping single keys to some secret inspiration as he completed his preparations. Vanessa moved easily through the crowd, her time as a performer in the poorer districts giving her the skill to dodge and weave without seeming untoward.

As she moved, Kip swirled around her, weaving and dancing in the air with excited purrs and chattering. His vocalizations and soft blue light drew the attention of several patrons as they went, some smiled, some frowned, and several looked at their drinks questioningly. Another resounding chord echoed out as Vanessa reached the haphazard bar, taking a spot only just vacated without a second thought.

She looked at the barkeep, poring over his collection of drinks, and grinned. “I’ll have one of whatever you’re getting,” she said without a care as she settled onto the stool and reached a hand up for Kip to wrap around. The cat spirit in the shape of a water dragon complied eagerly, twisting and wrapping his form to curl from her shoulder to her palm with happy mewling.

Vanessa reached into her small pack and removed a leatherbound book to place on the table. The cover of the book bore stamped notes, all of them placed atop each other in different orientations to form a strangely pleasing visual riot of musical notation. If one examined the cover further, they would find that every possible notation lay in the circle, each centered exactly atop all the others.

She stroked the cover of the book reverently, grinning broadly and lost in entirely in her thoughts. After a moment of silent worship, she opened the book to its center, revealing a collection of blank staff paper on each side with no page numbering or other markings.

She flexed her hand over the blank pages, pulling on the threads of magic she carried inside her. Her magic fought her, the power needed for the spell she desired resisting her pull. Vanessa grinned, flexing her will and pulling more firmly. Her ethereal Fae wings, silvery orange and translucent, sprang into being, fluttering with effort behind her as she worked. Finally there was a faint pop and magic spilled forth from her hands and onto the book.

The pages began to flutter, turning and turning on an invisible wind as tendrils of blue and orange poured from her palm onto the book. Kip chattered excitedly as another chord sprang up from the pianist and pages began to rip themselves from the book with the soft tearing of stitched bindings.

As each pair of pages came free they fluttered around Vanessa, like floating butterflies awaiting a command. “Listen, and Know,” Vanessa intoned and clapped her hands, the pop of her closing palms resounding strangely.

[Ciaran]

Perhaps Ciaran had not been at all prepared. Perhaps he'd lived so much of his life in Fellsgard, carefully guarding his own magical secrets behind the moonlit veil of his physical training. Perhaps he'd for just a brief moment forgotten he was in the strangeness of Verdant Row instead of the cold closed-mindedness of home. Perhaps he simply wasn't capable of letting his guard down, not really, even here. Whatever the case, there as the tall half-elemental in elvish seeming leaned against the solid but also rickety, clean but also dirty, level but also lilting bar, his colorful gaze couldn't help but linger on first the watery creature that fluidly filled his peripheral vision but then also toward the young dark-haired woman who it seemed to be so curiously attached to.

Ciaran tilted his head, looking downward, smiling almost instinctively when the new arrival grinned even if her expression had been meant for the barkeep and not himself,

"I can't guarantee the safety of that choice." He offered as if whatever choice the barkeep made would somehow be construed as his decision when it so obviously wasn't, "But I'm sure it will be fine. Mostly."

Surely, at least—not that he offered these words out loud—not fatal.

Both the woman and her draconic-shaped water spirit of some kind, shifted slightly, reaching for a book—oh! a book!—to set it on the least sticky section of their seating area. He didn't recognize the cover. He didn't see an author. The binding didn't miss his heterochromatic observation, nor did any detail of the cover. Wordlessly, he examined all he was given a glimpse of beneath the young woman's hand, but it was only a brief once-over, Ciaran suddenly self-conscious of his own intrusion. The half-elemental looked away for a moment, back toward the pianist as the ghostly figure found the notes he was trying to remember, searching for some fittingly haunting melody, letting the sound of it all sink inward, only to have his attention interrupted by the turning of pages.

He couldn't help himself, not really, for the boy had become a man surrounded by ancient books and dusty tomes, after all.

He was too intimate with his own magical nature, too familiar with the sensation of that shifting of unusual energies, to not recognize the hints of magic when he felt it. Eyes widened and for a moment, his entire lanky body tensed, concerned for their surroundings, concerned for their safety, and then relaxed again, basking in the strange unfolding of not only the young woman's apparent talents but also ... wings?

It was quite a bit to take in, though transformation of any kind was not unfamiliar to the sliver of moonlight who wore elvish features as a disguise, and Ciaran shifted slightly in his seat to make room for what was happening, the woman clearly attempting to compliment the music the ghost had begun to play as pages fluttered free of their bindings (what a shame to all of that craftsmanship!) and floating around the smaller-framed stranger right there next to him, fluttering like insects around a bright fire.

Well-disciplined in restraint, the half-elemental found it difficult to relax and attempt to enjoy the entertainment as it unfolded, and while he considered allowing himself to attune more intentionally to the music the spectral pianist was settling so comfortably into, it felt as though it would have been far too obvious for Ciaran to offer his own possible magical accompaniment. Or at least, it felt too soon to intrude. So he waited, quiet and curious, instead.

[Bob]

Bob looked at the ghost as it drifted over to him.

"You're sure you want to work here?". It asked him.

Glowering at the spirit the old man made a harumphing noise. "Course I bloody well want to work here, otherwise I wouldn't have applied." He almost yelled. "Idiot." He muttered under his breath. "Just move over and let me get that kid over there his drink.". And in his typical manner, Bob went to push past the ghost, only to push through it instead.

The old man shivered as he almost fell. "Damned ghost.". And made his way over to the liquid spirits. There seemed to be mostly old things in here, even the drinks, it was one of the reasons he applied here. Figured he'd fit in with the old things. "Alright, something from Ninraih. Give me a minute." He spoke, more to the drinks than the people wanting drinks.

He looked at all the bottles and didn't have the slightest idea where to start. Grabbing a bottle that had a word on it that started with an "N". He grabbed some orange juice, some sugar, another bottle off the shelf with another name he couldn't read, and mixed them all together in a shaker, the drink splashing out around the unsecured shaker. Then he poured it into two glasses, a little running down the sides of both glasses.

Turning back to the two at the bar he slammed the glasses down in front of them. He gave what he thought was a charming smile, but really was a grimace. Smiling didn't come naturally, nor did it look natural on his face. "Here you go! That'll be 30 gold each.". At the blank looks from the two in front of him, Bob thought maybe it was too high. "I mean, total...30 total gold.". Still, the blank looks and the ghost in the corner was starting to float over with an angry look on his face, "To hell with it. 30 copper total." God's how he hated people, dead or alive.

[Vanessa LaNore]

Vanessa's attention was torn between the spectral musician, who’s every keypress seemed to draw him closer to unleashing his creativity, and the sudden thump of a glass in front of her. The drink-maker, not the barkeep she’d spoken to moments ago, asked for thirty gold and the bard balked. There were several long seconds of silence before a much more amenable price was haggled to.

“That sounds fine to me,” she said, taking the glass and lifting it up. She raised an eyebrow at the oozing liquid slowly creeping down the side. The contents of the glass roiled like the sea and there was a faint scent of parsnips coming from the tiny bubbles that drifted to the surface. “Never get anywhere without some fun,” Vanessa said with a shrug and lifted the glass to her lips, taking a teaspoon measure of the drink.

The first thing she noticed was the overwhelming sense of citrus. Just as she was beginning to wonder if she’d been given juice it was followed by what she would later only be able to describe as a flood of impending doom. Her eyes went wide with panic and she gulped reflexively only to have the next sensation reveal itself as the burning punch of over-strong alcohol. Her mouth flew open and a snort forced its way from her nose as she fought the coughing fit that tried to follow. When the urge receded she smacked her lips and took another small sip of the drink. It gave the same sensations, overwhelming citrus, terror, and then strong drink.

“This tastes like the end of your life by orange,” she said, raising the glass to the irritated looking man who had served her. “If it doesn’t have a name, perhaps Death’s Doorstep,” she offered helpfully as her cheeks began to redden. She grinned at the man before another chord of piano music caught her attention. She spun away from the bar, swaying only slightly and laughing with joy.