Playing for Fish (Open)

[Shasshtekssemet]

Timestamp: 70th of Spring, 512 AV With a purple linen cloak lain out beneath her like some make shift pic-nic blanket, Ssemet had marked her place in Herring Square. At her side sat the ever present reed basket, innocuous enough in most circumstances, which held the sleeping Sseth though he was hidden by view by a small fabric covering. Although she never left her companion behind, Ssemet also never performed with him in this city. The people were simply too suspicious of her, a foreigner, already. To compound their suspicions with an unusual talent was begging for repercussions. Either way, the Dhani musician had another gimmick that was much less ludicrous in this city of celestials, gold, and gems. Her golden flute grasped between her tawny palms. If there was any great benefit to be had living in this most xenophobic of cities it was that her mark, the vivid scarlet vines, on the back of her right hand wasn’t instantly objectionable to the populace. Bringing the auric flute to her lips, the Dhani began with a simple note. Some songs were muscle memory now, but she had to show caution because exotic songs of the south were not necessarily welcome any more than the people of the south. Instead of the lovely spices of the south, Ssemet played the tale of a young fawn’s first spring foray in the spring. The subtle trills trying to garner attention of the many passing through the commotion of the fish market mostly went unheard, but a handful paused to listen to her song. As the people listened, Ssemet watched. The serpent was no grand adventurer, her stories originated from other people and events she had seen. As the last resonating note faded into the cacophony of the fish market, a handful of low denominational chips tumbled on to her purple ‘blanket’ to be quickly replied with “Thank you” from the flutist. Gathering up the coins, Ssemet took a brief break before beginning her next tune. It was only morning and she would be playing her songs as long as there were people to stop and listen.

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[Lucas Arias]

One of the patrons of the Sharp Tongue Pub had mentioned that there was a fish market in Nyka. Lucas had thought that the man was drunk – selling food was illegal, and fish were food – but he had decided to go there and investigate anyway. Since the man had also said something about music – what did music have to do with fish? – the failed squire had taken his lute with him. Maybe he could play a bit and earn some money that way. Although he had never had any training with the lute, the redhead was convinced that he was the best lute player in all of Mizahar.

The Nykans stared at him, as always. With his red hair, freckles and decidedly un-Nykan clothes the boy stood out a bit, but he didn’t mind, and everytime somebody looked at him the wrong way, he greeted them with a friendly „chupra“ or a similar word. The poor Nykans probably didn’t have any idea that he was constantly accusing them of having sex with goats and eating vermin instead of whatever food Nykans commonly enjoyed.

Having reached the market, he took a look around and quickly came to the conclusion that this unfortunately wasn’t a secret (or not so secret) gathering of criminals that were illegally selling food. He had thought the monks would give him a reward for reporting the fishermen, but unfortunately this was not the case. Well, he could still get his hands on a nice fish and play a bit as he had initially planned. Those Nykans would certainly appreciate good Syliran music!

It was then that Ssemet caught his attention. When just about every other person was a Nykan and looked kind of the same, it was hard not to notice a foreigner. He came closer and listened to her for a while, and then he remarked, „You know, I think we should play together, lute and flute. What do you think? The other musicians are all alone, so we would be something special. We foreigners should stick together. By the way, where are you from? You don’t look anything like them.“

He talked rather fast, and there was no noticeable break between his sentences. And he grinned all over his face.

[Shasshtekssemet]

Ssemet blinked and perhaps looked unintelligent for her slow response. Common was not her finest language and the lad had spoken quite quickly. His fiery hair reminded her of another starkly pale stranger she’d met years past. Her hand burned at the memory though she knew that this man was not the goddess. Picking up Sseth’s basket the Dhani placed the container behind her. Motioning to the now empty spot, she nodded. “Alright, a lute doess not go ssso badly with a flute.” Her flute lay across her knees. Though an antique by human standards, Ssemet was only a young adult by her own people’s accord and even with her handful of seasons north of the deserts the most pale skin tones amazed her. These humans almost looked cadaverous to her. “I am from the ssouthern ssands. Where are you from sstranger?” Ssemet’s speech patterns were her most foreign feature, she had been fortunate that her colorful robes had not been considered overtly bizarre in Nyka where citizens appreciated vibrancy. Her olive skin tone was off to match in with the populace though and it would always set her apart in this place of humans. But the young musician who approached her, the serpentine woman had trouble fathoming a place full of humans like him. Ssemet smelled a story, and if it was a good story it ought to be a song. Before she could inquire too far, it would be best to finish her days work. “What ssongss do you know bessst?” Likely as not, they wouldn’t know any of the same tunes. Though she couldn’t place his origins, the idea of the milk skinned fellow in Eyktol almost made her snicker. The young man’s skin would probably take on a hue to rival his hair.

[Lucas Arias]

Lucas looked at Ssemet’s basket and wondered what was in it. Weapons that she would use to murder the fishermen? Lots and lots of gold and silver? Illegally bought food? As she spoke, he abruptly pulled his gaze away from the mysterious container again. There was something strange about the way she pronounced certain words. Lucas was normally pretty good with accents, but he couldn’t figure hers out.

„Oh, thank you“, he remarked as she agreed to his proposal, positioned himself next to her and plucked the strings of his lute a few times to make sure it still worked. He hadn’t used it all that much since he had come to Nyka, but he had played quite frequently in Syliras. It had usually ended with him being thrown out of the various establishments where he had played because nobody had liked his music.

„I’m not from the southern sands“, he replied, wondering if he should try to imitate her account so that she would hear something familiar. „I’m from Syliras, although people seem to insist I’m just another Inarta bastard.“ It was then that something occured to him, and his eyes suddenly grew wide. „Are you an Eypharian? I mean, half Eypharian since you only have two arms?“ The many armed desert dwellers fascinated him beyond measure, and she certainly looked as if she might have a bit of Eypharian blood.

„I know a few songs from the desert!“ he proudly informed her. „I can even sing a little in Arumenic, if you think the people here will appreciate it!“