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Percy's Posts
Topic Started: Aug 8 2014, 07:13 PM (9 Views)
KriegTheDwarf
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"With time standing before me like a waiting mistress, I cup her face and she presents a smile, her teeth flash pearls, filling my awareness, she pouts and begs me stay a while. I touch her flesh and feel my weakness, our bodies dare intertwine.. all through all this a subtle danger- I'm the fool for thinking that she's all mine." Reslin's fingers flash back and forth over the nine-stringed lute, plucking a rather sad, wilting tune as his baritone voice supplied the poetry as accompaniment. The Tavern was packed, though most were not there to see him play- most were workers and docksmen, tired and restless from long days hauling. The mood was lighter than the song he played, and it occurred to him that if the crowd didn't like his playing, it could get ugly. The innkeeper scowled at him, silently begging that he play a song meant for dancing. Such drivel, those songs.. but popular. Reslin could get at least a whole night's pay and some in just one well placed song- he wondered at his mood to pick the sad tune he currently sang.

Finishing up the tune expertly, the Minstrel immediately began working a melody, a high ballad that had even the serving girls itching to kick their shoes off and dance. "Wine and Candor" he sang, titling the tune. "Come and dance M'Lady! Our hearts are young a free.. Come and dance M'Lady, spend time unwind with me! Come and dance M'Lady! To hell with what's before.. and if he asks what went on last night, it was the Wine and candor!" Simple lyrics that energized those now moving to the floor. The lute came alive after each verse, blanketing the eager crowd with finely spun rhythm. The spectators could hold their mirth no longer. They danced in great circles, weaving in and out of each other gracefully with laughter on their lips. The innkeeper clapped and hooted, the serving girls abandoned their duties and in some cases their morality and danced until their legs ached. Skirts swished along the floor, heavy boots thudded against the floor in rhythm.

Sweat began to wash the man's face as he played- dressed in fine verdant robes and soft soled cloth boots, Reslin appeared to be a noble forest dweller- every detail of his attire seen to. His long hair was tied away from his face with a golden cord, his cloak held no wrinkles and beneath a white collar peeked from beneath the high neckline. His dress was concurrent with the fashion of the day, expensive, well made. He was everything the poor saw in nobility- except he was accessible, where true nobility was not. This was the allure of the Bard. Talent, aloof regality, and a manor that inspired the poor to believe in magic poured from the man during performances.

When he was done, he made his best leg, a bow for kings and queens in court, and produced a flourish of cape. He would have a drink and a meal, and then perhaps he would juggle or tumble for the people if they did not wish any more songs. He would end his night with a tale, told in the grandest of fashion- spinning a tale to send the patrons off with a sense of adolescent wonder into the blackness of the night. That ought to be worth his fee. After that, it would be a serving girl in the dark, and a strangely comfortable morning- the girl would love him entire- and he would slip into the day with her heart and the promise of a life together- of course he'd be half way to the next town by nightfall to do it all again.

Maybe one day he'd settle: when he found Time. Perhaps then, he'd be the fool to lay with her and believe she tamed. Until then the rogue, was simply that. A rogue.
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