Finger plucking the trepidation of decay left notes of sincerity tucked into alleys and sprawled over the cobblestone roads of Zeltiva’s ancient quarter. The lute’s sound warped into the echo, leaving a madness of olive green vines clinging from pre-Valterrian window panes.
“Ouch.” The man jested. “One cup of wine on an empty stomach and I’m f’k’n playin on animal gut strings while the living beasty be still digesting my humility.” Another note twanged off the terra cotta roof tiles. “Sounds like shite, scuse me for say’in…” The music continued, skirting the edge of it’s idyllic goal. “But I’m just say’ing..”
Fenris Hood continued to tune the instrument and recreate the chorus to a sea chanty that had been lifted into one of the most requested numbers from the docks to the school of knocks. He began to use a plectrum with left handed strumming that in theory allowed for complex polyphony. The notation for the song was all in his head and it was the flavor of the sea he was after with all it’s rich nuances and dire depth.
A stray mutt yelped off a response while running behind the man’s heels, but the bard sidestepped it’s wagging tail with a two step dance move in time with the belting rhythm. “That ‘tings better. Almost there, nearly on.”
The granite cliffs above fell into the cityscape as his eyes partook of the building. It was a great manor, hidden by slanted juniper, high walls and an auspicious aura of well lit mystery. There was a polished brass bell hung neatly from the stone barrier next to the expecting doorway with an engraved plaque that read in shining common – Wright Manor.
“Wonder if curiosity’s got time to kill me.”
He rang it and began to sing in tune with his barking backup. “Yo-ho me heartys yo-ho.”
Though rumored empty there was a indeed a regal social gathering taking place on it’s grounds tonight, as the pride of the city had come to explore and peruse the well-groomed gardens or dance throughout the halls within. Fenris brushed a stray hair from his gaze, removing a cream colored invitation that read Egil Corvus – Entertainment from the hem of his outer tunic. The envelope was anchored by a red wax seal and held the powerful art of dignity, yet there was a unique story to how that paper found it’s way to his opened hand.
-
Days earlier..
The pipe smoke was rich and stung like a babe’s first scream. A girth of shade lingered upon candlelight as a rotund spymaster’s outline was eclipsed by red fire. His voice wavered between curtness and heavy sloth.
“Now Hood, we need you to tactfully ransack this event, find out the identity of the illusive Lady Gray, then completely eliminate her germinating plans if you take to my tone. Evidence and partners I’ll pay aplenty for. Papers illuminating her offshoot – the trade consortium, exclusive trade rights to the tentative Falyndar colonies and chapters of spurned Knights who wish to gain a gauntlet there. Reasons being what they are the consequences as you should see them are quite simple.”
The fat figure breathed in his pipe tobacco as Fenris Hood shared a cigar while listening nare politely. “Several of my clients are putting extreme pressure to shut out Sylira’s opportunity on the island. The fucking bloodthirsty xenophobes don’t take kindly to daring knights shoving Tyveth’s justice down their jugular, I can assure you mate. Myri’s kind ripped a good connection of mine to pieces and the teeth are on the table. Higher powers want this deal squashed, at any cost.”
The master chuckled smugly to himself while pointing a fat finger towards the bearded bard across the table. “That’s where we come in, to make sure the finely oiled gears and cogs of this world don’t start turning the other direction, re-breaking this land as if things aren’t horrid enough as it falls now.”
“Only when you look at your reflection Mic. Never b'in thought of as a watchmaker before, but the metaphor i'z flattering.” Fenris breathed in his rolled tobacco and ashed it on the seedy Sylrian apartment floor indiscriminately. A husky jolt of laughter followed another blown row of smoke.
“All we know of Lady Gray is that she is well connected and is entrenched in the Zeltivan social strata and politics. She’s got weight and I’ve got you.”
“Right, will she be wearing gray you think, or would that be too obvious.”
“Knowing you, she’ll be wearing nothing..”
Hood winced at the “flattery”. “Payment?”
“A short memory and your .. colorful.. record with the Knighthood absolved, plus the usual gold.”
Fenris snorted, raising an eyebrow while ashing his cigar again. “Inside job huh. Curious that they could so easily forget one that burned two of their Wildland chapters to the f'king ground.”
Micah folded his heavy arms across a barrel shaped chest. “Just get the job done mate. Then we’ll see how the strings pull. For now, trim your fucking beard and make good with our Zeltivian contacts. You ride out tomorrow.”
“Opposition?”
“Rumor has it Mortanis has the contract as well. I know what you’re thinking. A different party, likely Rhysol fitting to decapitate his rivals.. that’s all. I’d half expect the Myrians to send one of their own, but bones speared through the nose would hardly be discreet at a doily and tea party.”
“I’m betting our Lady is prepared for the correspondence so I’ll be on m' very b'st behavior. Discretion is what you pay me for..”
“Not always.” The silence hung like a blanket made noose but broke imperceptibly. “Sometimes I just pay you because I’ve run out of peanuts and my organ grinding arm’s sore.”
Hood smirked, the lit cigar caught between his lips. “Cute lad, I’ll be in touch.”
“Just make sure you touch someone else first, and make certain it hurts.”
The Bard’s eyes blinked into the vortex of recollection.
“.. Aye. That I will.”
