A Tune Near the Water

[Ireth Telemnar]

Summer 26, 513 A.V.

The water.

Ireth watched as it danced under the calls of the gulls and the glare of the sun. Every once in a while, the mantra of the ripples would be disturbed by a terrapin coming up for air or a fish after an insect. Even dragonflies danced along around the boats, their wings glittering as they swooped and dived in hunt.

Collecting her belongings, Ireth took off down the harbor. She dodged the Shipyard's afternoon traffic, her pack thumping faithfully against her back. She'd been playing here in Ravok's Shipyard most of the morning, the older fishermen laughing and greeting her by name. Men who'd been friends of her father back when he was alive. The fishers had swapped stories, if they'd the time, while Ireth piped. And if she paused, they'd tell tales of her father because, even if he wasn't a native Ravokian, he had been a wise fisher and a kind man. Loved by all whi'd met him and missed by many, Zhydinach was.

Eventually though, the men departed from the harbor, sailing out onto the Lake to make a living. And as the day wore on and the sun rose higher, Ireth's mind grew in want of a change of pace. Feeling more adventurous than usual, Ireth decided to go into the Merchants District, where one might find nearly anything they might need in Ravok.

She left the docks with a momentary glance back.

Back into the dancing waters.

[Ireth Telemnar]

There were degrees by how well Ireth knew certain parts of her city, just as Ravok was divided into different districts. She knew the Docks best of all: the Shipyards full of gulls, the Nitrozian Plaza overlooked by the city's NHC buildings, the Healing Hand, and the Silver Sliver. She'd lived in or around the Docks all her life, growing up and currently living in NHC rooms and playing down in the Shipyard as a child. The only spot of the Docks that Ireth tried to avoid at all costs was the Plaza of Dark Delight, where the Ebonstyfe kept the Slave Market.

After the Docks came the Merchants District. Her mother had been raised in the upper middle class of merchants, and she and Ireth had spent their fair share of time here among the wives of the shopkeepers and traders. Ireth loved to spend time in the People's Market, where the scents of a thousand different foods mingled over the slightly fishy smell of Ravok's canals.

Then there came the Noble District, another place Ireth used to come with her mother when her father was alive. The distinct and wealthy families of her city, the Nitrozians and the Valdinox, the Larks and the Galatos, and the Lazarin, lived in the Noble District; some made wealthy by trade and barter, or by association with the Black Sun and the Ebonstryfe, or simply by running in the crime of the underground. Ireth didn't play there much, there weren't many bridges and walks that allowed room for the flautist to spread out to play. The Noble District was actually the zone of her city that Ireth knew the least about, though she passed through it often enough on her way deeper into Ravok.

At the center of Ravok was a district known simply as the City Center, though the area was anything but simple. Here was housed the gorgeous Temple of the Black Sun, where the Ravokians worshiped gracious Rhysol and listened to the sermons given by the acolytes of the Voice. Then there was the Institute of Higher Learning, where the wealthy and the Ebonstyfe learned magic; and still-ruined Center for Employment and Business Licensing. Ireth liked playing in the City Center, though she didn't do it as often as she liked. She felt at peace here, the light sound of the Ebonstryfe training ringing out against the old buildings, the scent of incense wafting from the Temple.

Oh, the Temple.

Ireth's mother used to bring her to the Temple of the Black Sun once every five or six days to worship the Father Rhysol. She was always reassured by the acolytes that every prayer in Ravok was heard by Rhysol, even those of the smallest child.

Her mother still came to worship fairly often, though not as often as she had before Ireth's father died. And Ireth knew that she wasn't going enough. She kept putting it off. 'Perhaps tomorrow,' she'd think before rolling back over on her bed, many a time.

The thought crossed her mind as she sat down in a ravosala and looked up to see the spires of the Temple. But she shook her head. 'Not today. Today I play for the merchantfolk.'

[Kit Rowan]

For someone like Kit, a foreigner with no citizenship to hide behind, Ravok was no safe place. She could be murdered a whim, risking only the slight displease of her employer. It would have made more sense for Kit to spend her free time locked safely away in her room where no one was likely to find and hurt her. For a while she had even tried, but it had not stuck. Her body demanded motion, and to rob herself of that was a little death of its own sort.

Kit meandered through the canals through her own curious methods of locomotion, her travels inevitably drew her away from the center and Noble Districts, who had secured their position in the lack with private anchors each and a deep canal between them that left no options for crossing but a handful of coppers to a Ravosala or a well-calculated leap. Here, on the outskirts, it may have been more dangerous to walk, but many of the structures were anchored together by thick lines of rope that Kit could balance atop, or bridges she could cross like a normal person might.

She was dressed in a plain, dark shirt and trousers, wearing the guise of Shy that she had taken to maintaining near-constantly in Ravok. Kit stayed to the ground today, taking the long way through the city, moving in a loping run, the corners of her mouth turning up, even when her breath came starting coming up short, even when Kit came staggering to a halt, hands on her knees, panting. "Out for a run," she told someone who had stopped to stare, grin still plastered to her face. He must have taken her mirth for innocence, since all he did was shrug his shoulders and move on.

Though there was no safe place for her, The Merchant's District was one of the few places she felt safer. Rhysol's thrice-damnable temple rose like a warning in Ravok's middle, while the slave market that had chewed and spit Kit out like a piece of old meat bustled and thrived along the city's edges in the docks. But The People's Market and the ring of shops surrounding it reminded Kit a little of home in Alvadas, where she'd learned to coerce mizas out of passersby with a tumble and a smile.

After her lungs had finished with their heaving, Kit started her run again, feeling her heart rate sputter and speed and loving every moment.

[Ireth Telemnar]

Ireth hummed a tune in time with the rocking of the ravosala, though every once in awhile, the ravosalaman would break the peace and shove off of a walk or a building to steer the small boat between others. Then, as the craft passed from the Docks and into the Merchants District, the hint of food wafted through the air on a warm zephyr. Ireth sat up excitedly, her lips growing into a smile.

The People's Market was the hub for all foods in Ravok, native Ravokian or otherwise. Laid out on a large plaza known as the Merchant's Ring with four entrances facing the four directions, the Market was a large and beautiful collaboration of dozens of wooden stalls and tents. People bustled about: citizens of her city and visitors; women with baskets, children running about, and men flirting; folk haggling over trade and prices while petty thieves and the homeless waited for an opportunity to snag a snack or a meal. Folk called out to each other, either to draw the attention of the passerby or to curse an outrageous price. Ireth knew that, even though they'd deny it every time, the local merchants would offer lower prices to the citizens than they would to the outsiders. Such was the way of her city.

The ravosalaman pulled up to the plaza, offering his hand in assistance to the young lady. Ireth laughed and accepted his help, then slid his payment into his hand. He pushed off from the platform once more, and she dusted her tunic off before turning to face the East Entrance of the Market. The heavy scent of the place was almost sickly-sweet, nearly overwhelming in the abundance of fragrances. Ireth paused for a moment, closing her eyes and taking in a deep breath, just like she used to do as a child when her mother would bring her.

Mint, cloves, garlic. Oh, peppers, onions, tomatoes. There are apples, berries, even bananas. Wait, was that...? Ireth's eyes sprang open only to blink again as they teared up. Samphire...

Samphire was a green, woody herb that grew by the Nykan seaside. Whenever he could get it at the Spicy Lass or here at the People's Market, Ireth's father would bring it home. Her mother would prepare fish with it, giving the meal a crisp and almost salty flavor. Fish with samphire was Zhidynach's favorite. Sometimes her mother would make it for his birthday, but Ireth couldn't remember Birine making it since her father passed away.

Ireth took another breath of the herb, savoring its fragrance before it was overpowered by another. She immediately wanted to go and purchase some of the plant, but that single tear rolled down her cheek and she stopped in her tracks. As much as I love it, and as Father loved it, it would only make Mother think of him. The last thing I want is to make her sick with heartbreak again... Perhaps I'll just get some for myself. Then I'll find a spot to play.

[Kit Rowan]

Kit slowed to a stop, holding a hand over her chest as she heard the sound of dozens of voices rising over the street. She closed her eyes, sniffed the air, her nostrils assailed by the sharp aroma of spices. In Alvadas there were cooks the likes of which the rest of the world had never seen, who could coax flavor and fragrance from dishes, all in attempt to please Ionu with the variety of dishes. Smelling their spices reminded Kit of the taste of strange food on her tongue, making her tongue curl and mouth water.

She shook her head to shake off the ghost of memory, sighed and adjusted her belt. One day she would be home again. One day . . . A child in plain clothes tried to shoulder past Kit, a daring hand darting down toward her purse till she slapped it away. The boy walked on for two steps, then turned back with a sour look on his face. Kit stuck her tongue out at the little thief and thumbed her nose before she turned around started off again.

There wasn't a place in the city so bustling as the Merchant's Ring. Everyone needed food, and the market was chock full of it, drawing little hordes of people from across the city. Kit shouldered through the crowds, a thin, diminutive creature bustled and bullied by the pressing throng.

Kit wriggle through the edge, near a lonely little patch of wall that no merchant had claimed to hawk their wares. The little Alvad propped herself against it, tugged at her collar and rolled back her sleeves to the shoulders, searching for some happy compromise in the summer heat as the people mingled, laughing, hissing, eating. Kit felt a sly little smile force its way across her face at the thought of all the people. This was, Kit's mind ticked and tocked on without her permission, an excellent space to set up for a performance. There were enough people here that you would get exposure and coin if you sat very still and asked everyone 'please,' and of course performing would rake in the coins.

But, her smile fell away as she remembered, she wasn't really a street performer right now, was she? The knowledge was as useful to her as it would be to a baker. Kit crossed her arms and muttered something foul under her breath.

[Ireth Telemnar]

She wandered through the market for nearly a bell without finding the samphire merchant. Some of the market-folk knew Ireth, having heard her play or knowing her simply by being Ravokian. It wasn't that she was well known through money or crime or slaves. She'd just grown up in Rhysol's beautiful city, she knew the people as she knew her city. Friends of her father's, friends of her mother's, folk who had lived in the same NHC building that her family had, some were even people who frequently came to listen to Ireth sing and play her flute.

You could almost make a meal out of the samples you can get at the People's Market. Spiced breads melted in Ireth's mouth. Fresh slices of vegetables sent crisp flavors down her throat. She laughed with the older women-folk, who clucked and poked at her stomach, saying that she needed to eat more. The old fisherman that sold their wares called out to her, offering discounts for the daughter of Zhidynach Telemnar. There were even children who had danced to Ireth's gigs and shanties that ran about the market, having accompanied their parents. They begged the girl to play for them, knowing well that her flute was hidden in her backpack.

"Back, ya nipping fishes!" she laughed as the kids pulled at her clothes and tugged at her hands.

"Oh, play for us Ireth!" The children begged and chorused.

She let the kids have at it for a while, then she found a bare piece of the plaza next to a fruit stand. The seller, a young pregnant woman in a plain red dress, watched Ireth curiously.

"Do you mind if I play here?"

The lady smiled and shook her head, then had to swat a child's hand when the boy attempted to swipe a juicy pear. The boy giggled and smiled innocently, thrusting his hands behind his back. Both Ireth and the woman laughed.

With a practiced gesture, Ireth pulled her old black cloak out of her backpack and flung it out, covering the ground with the fabric. She settled down on it, sitting crosslegged, and pulled out her trusty little blue bowl. She placed the bowl before her, for coin. Then, to the excitement of the children, Ireth made a show of pulling the wooden flute out of her pack, ending with a flourish. The kids laughed and clapped.

Then, adding to the children's fun and to let her concentrate a little, Ireth closed her eyes. She put the opening of the flute to her mouth, just inside her lips. The children grew quiet as they stared. Ireth placed her fingers over the six note holes and blew gently, unleashing a low and soothing note. It wavered a little, so she adjusted the position of the pigeon totem slightly, moving it just a hair. She blew the same note again, and it came out clear and strong.

Ireth launched into a light and airy tune. Her fingers danced up and down on the flute's holes, and she swayed to and fro with the rhythm. Every once in a while the notes would waver and Ireth would have to remind herself to keep her throat open. The tune suffered and squawked if the flautist's throat was closed.

She could hear the bare and booted feet of the children drumming along as she played, and her breathing was smooth. She took breaths between a series of notes, making sure that when she sucked in a breath, it didn't make a loud noise. The melody was pretty, one that she'd learned from her father. Actually, everything that she knew about her pipe she'd either made up herself or learned from Zhidynach.

(ooc note: I play a Native American flute in real life, the flute that I based Ireth's off of. So, I kinda know what I'm doing)

[Kit Rowan]

Look, look at the way they laughed, the way they played! That child, there, chasing what after a sister or cousin or friend, broad, honest smiles on their faces, the little nonsense chatter of friends formed from familiarity rather than fire. Kit was smiling, tapping a finger idly against the wall behind her, a stranger letting the city flow around her like water about a stone. If she let her illusion flicker false for a second and let a Ravokian catch a glimpse of the brand on her shoulder, she would be in store for the sort of pain and humiliation Qalaya hadn't invented words for.

Kit whistled a quiet, curious and foreign tune and continued to watch it roll past. She swung from person to person, thing to thing. The shopkeeper that revealed a limp when he turned around and tried to bend over to reach his wares, a young boy in front of what was near certainly a family fruit stand handing off his goods to pretty girls for half the price they were worth and a girl trailing anklebiters, waving them off like a teasing, doting older sister, meandering through the street in search of nothing in particular. Still, there was nothing about the girl that begged a second look till Kit caught a glimpse of the girl throwing her cloak to the ground and tossed a little bowel to the side.

Sitting up straight a moment, Kit leaned forward, tilting her head to the side. It seemed someone had the tricks of her trade more or less down. Still, from where she stood it would take some truly insane hearing to hear the girl's song. Perhaps, for her, a quieter place where her tune could carry further would be ideal instead. Kit knuckled a few kinks out of her back and marched forward, careful to stay at the edge of the crowd and not be swallowed up again.

She stopped just a hair behind the rest of Ireth's watchers. Wearing illusion like a second skin, her hair was stunningly dark, her face forgettably pretty and her skin a few shades darker. Good music was one of life's best pleasures. Kit had much respect for those that practiced his arts. Perhaps, if things had been a little different, Kit would have been a singer instead of an acrobat.

Her finger unconsciousness tapped tapped tapped against her thigh to the beat. There were no words to Ireth's tune. It was refreshing. If there had been Kit had little doubt it would have revolved around Rhysol and his various blessings; this way at least, she could appreciate the music for music, and forget a while the world that it had spawned from.

[Ireth Telemnar]

After that light tune was done, Ireth took a pause and looked around. Some folk had gathered around the children, laughing and clapping along with the dancers. A small girl went running to her mother, begged a coin, ran back, and placed it carefully into Ireth's bowl. "Thank you so much," Ireth grinned at the child, causing her cheeks to crinkle the corners of her eyes. The girl-child giggled. Other folk pitched a few coins into the little dish too. Glancing over, Ireth watched the young pregnant woman. People who'd been drawn to Ireth's piping were also browsing the seller's fruit. The lady must have felt Ireth's gaze, because she looked up. Ireth winked, and the woman waved and gave a chuckle.

After a moment, Ireth pulled her flute back to her lips and launched into another melody, this time the favorite ocean shanty of her eldest brother. The rhythm was slower, the notes deeper. Her fingers danced up and down upon the note holes like the rippling water that beat against the walks of Ravok. Up and down, up and down. Her breathing got off for a bit, and her throat closed, but she didn't even pause, only focused on the flow of the air in and out of her system to correct the challenge.

A pair of Ebonstryfe decided to stroll through the crowd at that time. Their glistening black armor clanked in time with their stride, their longswords at their hips. Some of the common-folk averted their gaze, either in fear or in respect. Others greeted the soldiers with courtesy, a bow or curtsy. Children gaped in awe, girls from behind their mothers' skirts and boys from where they had froze. This pair were jovial this morning though, greeting the market-people and the common-folk. A few of the young ladies that were in the Market with produce would come up and offer the soldiers their best foods, all while batting lashes and blushing red. The young studs around rolled their eyes at the fawning girls, but shook hands and patted the backs of the Styfe.

Thus was the way of her city.

One of the soldiers threw a coin into Ireth's bowl. "Play the people a merry tune, bard." His eyes danced and his partner dipped his head at the young lady.

"Of course sir!"

Ireth shut her eyes and released a brilliant and clear high note. She kept it long, until the people began to wonder if she was going to pass out. But she didn't. Her father made sure to teach her to use her diaphragm whenever she played, because simply using her lungs would put her out of breath quickly.

Eventually she cut off the high note and spun into a fast-paced ballad, one that folk commonly asked her to play. The older men and women knew that it was a rather crude drinking song, and they sang along under their breath, but the children knew nothing. They pranced and danced, kicking their feet up in the air as the adults clapped. The Ebonstryfe strode off, patrolling for thieves and laden with gifts of flirtatious girls.

[Kit Rowan]

How the flutist's music dipped and dove! It had been so long since she had stopped and really appreciated a piece of music. In her mind the muted, stumbled notes smoothed into solid, unbroken song and for a moment Kit dressed the flutist in the colorful raiment of the Inverted, imagined her song in the background as performers danced and spun and leaped as illusion twisted and contorted their bodies into every young man and woman's dream by turns. What a shame to see her here, then, greedily held by a city with no interest in sharing their bards with the world. Her head began to nod, her foot pounding in rhythm against the ground.

As the Ebonstryfe walked into view Kit visibly tensed, breathed deep through her nose for a moment, clutching above her elbows. Kit pretended a cough into her hand to give herself a chance to slip her bird's tongue in, just in case they deigned talk to her. She thought that she could feel their eyes on her back. What would they do? What would they do?

Nothing, as it turned out. Kit breathed out as she saw them pass by and turned her attention back to the flutist. All around her people were clapping and stamping their feet and muttering something Kit couldn't quite hear. She tried to clap along with them, stamp her feet in time with the music, forget where she was again, but it was harder this time with that reminder so close behind. When her song was finished Kit let loose a high whistle and stepped forward to the front of the audience, pulling a silver from her pocket and tossing it into Ireth's bowl.

As she looked now, Kit—or Shy—was nearly a head shorter than Ireth was while standing, just barely taller than the tallest of the children frolicking under her spell. "Bravo, miss." Kit pulled another silver from her purse and held it between too fingers like a temptation, her smile one of friendly challenge. "But can you do sad?"

[Ireth Telemnar]

Ireth watched the coin dance over the lady's fingers, its silver shining and glinting in the sun. She smiled. "Is that a challenge, my friend? Can I do sad?" Ireth laughed, throwing her head back. "Does Rhysol love our city? Of course I can do sad!"

With that same happy smile aglow on her face, Ireth presses the silver driftwood flute to her mouth and lets out a note so deep and sorrowful that even she's sombered up immediately. Still, she played on. The aria that she piped sounded like tears waterfalling from the end of her flute. Her fingers danced, slow and hypnotically. The notes tended to remain low, swinging up and down like lapping water. This song... this aria was the first that Ireth ever learned to play by herself. She'd remembered her father playing it whenever he was down, and after he passed on, she taught it to herself. The first time her mother had heard her play it, Birine had collapsed in a chair and sobbed for nearly two bells.

Ireth'd never played it around her mother again.

The words that accompanied this aria, when it came to be sung, spoke of a lighthouse keeper who lost his beloved to a storm at sea and committed suicide. When she'd been little, Ireth's mother would sing the words as Ireth's father'd play, and Ireth would cry. The song became one of her favorites.

When if came to the end, Ireth was certain that she could make out the deep sighs and little sniffles coming from the passerby. The children no longer danced, but shuffled about quietly in their little groups or behind their mothers.

Ireth rested the flute in her lap and stretched, wiping a tear from her own eye. She hummed in thought. "Well stranger, was that sad enough?"