PM to join [The Wolf's Cave] A Bard's Second Tale (Ruzekiel)

[Aislyn Leavold]

13th of Fall, 514 AV

Aislyn really didn’t know why she’d come.
Last time she had ventured to places she didn’t usually go, she’d been revealed as an illusionist to one (nearly two) people, almost got herself killed, and had earned herself a lame foot for the good part of two days because of the rock she had managed to impale her foot on. Not a good set of injuries for a day that had started off with a simple visit to a tavern. It wasn’t often one went out for a drink and ended up wandering aimlessly through a maze, along with ending the night running like your life depended on it.
But of course, that hadn’t been Zeke’s fault.

At least, it hadn’t been entirely Zeke’s fault. Whatever he had done, he hadn’t done it on purpose. He hadn’t known what had gone on between her and Reysin. He couldn’t have known. At least, he hadn’t seemed to have known, and unless Zeke was an incredible actor along with a fantastic liar, there was no way he knew Aislyn was an illusionist. Not that she planned to tell him.
Then again, the man wasn’t stupid. He must have noticed something was up. He might have acted quite naive, but he couldn’t have ignored what was going on right in front of him.

Shaking the thoughts from her head, Aislyn turned her attention to the task at hand- finding the tavern. As she walked towards what she could only guess might be the Wolf’s cave (one never knew with Alvadas), Aislyn convinced herself everything that had happened in the season prior was just a coincidence. Rey might have found out, but he was a rarity. A fluke. He had some sort of sixth sense that let him know what was going on with her. Ruzekiel didn’t have that, or else he would have said something. There was absolutely, positively nothing to worry about.

Then why was Aislyn so nervous?

If only she had originally met Ruzekiel in different circumstances. Aislyn was sure he might be one of the only people she’d be able to keep around. The woman wasn’t too terribly good at that. Making friends, keeping friends... Socializing in general. Lyn had never been a very outgoing person- especially after Ionu marked her. She had a reason to hide after that, and the means to. Friends never really seemed like an option.
Zeke, however...

Aislyn already knew him. The man from the maze, the bard from the tavern. ‘Nise of the fancy fabrics’- that was what he’d called her. The man truly was an entertaining person to be around, be it part of his job or not. Even better, he was naive as they came. He didn’t connect the dots fast enough to figure out anything about her. She had the advantage. And, with that advantage, she had security. She just had to keep reminding herself of that.

Last time they had met, Zeke had seen her as ‘Nise’. Now, however, she approached tavern with a different face- Maya.

It was an interesting concept, meeting someone for a second time. Especially in Aislyn’s case. Zeke wouldn’t recognize her, obviously, and she doubted he would remember her voice. Therefor, it would be like starting all over again. This time, however, with a different face. And, of course, more experience. No more panicking over the storyteller’s tales. That was, if he was even there.

Aislyn had been lucky finding The Wolf’s Cave. It seemed Ionu favoured her adventures- at least, for a moment. There was no guarantee Ruzekiel would even be there, nevermind on the job. What was she truly expecting?
The woman let the thought run over her mind for a few ticks. Really, she wasn’t expecting anything at all. Then again, it wouldn’t hurt to hope.

Soon enough, Aislyn, or rather, ‘Maya’, found herself in the doorway of the Wolf’s Cave. A joyful tune from what could only be a lute came from inside. Perhaps she had lucked out after all. Since she’d first visited, Aislyn had passed the Wolf’s Cave many times, but never had there been a sound of a lute playing- unless Ruzekiel was there. Not that she was complaining. The man was quite good for someone who almost always seemed to be drunk.

Sure enough, in the corner of the room, surrounded by a crowd of joyful (and, frankly, tipsy) tavern-goers, was Zeke. He appeared to be finishing his song at the moment Aislyn entered. She was, however, quick enough to hear the first words of a story the woman knew all too well.

[Ruzekiel Soren]

“…There once were three travelers, unrelated adventurers who chanced upon each other on a dark, stormy night, in this very tavern,” Zeke began dramatically as he set his lute beside him, the case left open on the stone floor in case anyone felt generous. He made sure to keep the attention of the audience, making eye contact with each and every patron, and one woman who had just come in. He had been mulling over this story for some time and he could barely contain his excitement at finally bringing news of his adventure to the rest of the tavern. It was clear in his expression and the buoyancy of his movements that he was going to enjoy telling this one. “…There was a beautiful, mysterious maiden who could magically change her clothing at will, a plucky ale-addled bard, and a terrifying but noble snakebeast. All three were met there to share an ale and enjoy the charming minstrel’s music.” He waggled his eyebrows at the word “charming.” No sense being modest with a tall tale. That got a quiet chuckle from the audience. As always the knowledge of their attention spurred him on. He took a hearty swig of his ale and continued. “Now the Snakebeast, known in all the land as Simon the Bold, was a sneaky fellow—Not sneaky in a malicious, eat-your-face-for-fun kind of way, more in an…eat-your-face-if-i-have-to kind of way—and he was in disguise, as a human.” Zeke made a wide gesture, with a raised eyebrow, like he was masking his face briefly. “The unwitting bard asked Simon the Bold where to find his kin, for the bard had met a medicine Snakebeast long ago—A story for another day…In pursuit of these mysterious “Dhani”, he led the two travelers—the pretty maiden, known as Ni—er…Nell of Fancy Fabrics, and Simon the Bold, into…” Zeke paused for dramatic effect, making sure everyone was paying attention before he theatrically announced, “The Garden of No Return.” There was a satisfying gasp from the patrons sitting around the fire, and one derisive snort from a grizzled old veteran Kelvic in the corner. Zeke allowed himself a smirk before he continued the story. “Out they stepped into an autumn gale, with torrential rain and thunder and high winds! Soon all three were soaked—with the exception of Nell’s fancy magical fabrics, of course—and they stepped through the garden gate along the mud-slick path, unaware of the events that would soon transpire in the mystical Garden…” Zeke’s voice went gleefully grim with foreshadowing. He paused for a long moment, facing off with the audience, hopefully pulling them in, keeping in mind what Boros taught him years ago about “engaging the showgoers”. He noticed a man at the bar from the corner of his eye who had gotten up to leave. The man hovered between the bartop and the door, half-seated, staring curiously towards Zeke’s seat at the fire. Zeke grinned, waited for another half a heartbeat, and launched right back into the tale. “For those of you living under a rock, The Garden of No Return is a perilous maze full of danger. There are moving hedges that grab you, and tear at your clothes!” Zeke’s hands darted out like claws at the people closest to his perch, making a few flinch backward. “Deadly silence, humongous pythons! Mischievous floating sparkly baubles of doom!” …At that the crowd’s enraptured quiet became awkward. Zeke paused, running through that line again in his head. Maybe he’d avoid mentioning the floating fairy lights that nearly knocked him out next time. That wasn’t very scary at all. “Anyway,” he barged on, flustered, “It so happened that the regrettably boozy bard wandered off, and fell behind the other two travelers. Before he knew it—” The bard jumped up again, gesturing wildly, “The hedge snapped shut behind him! Where once there was a large archway of flora, now there was only a thick, impenetrable wall of leaves. The bard was cut off from his mysterious companions!…But enough about our intrepid, tipsy minstrel. He’ll come in later.” Zeke sat down again and leaned forward, as if conspiring with his audience, and he continued in a low voice, “Little did the naive storyteller know, his two compatriots had been locked in a battle of wills from the start.” There were a few surprised murmurs from the crowd. “You see, Snakebeast and Fancyboots were secretly…” He paused and leaned forward even further, then plucked up his lute and strummed a dangerous chord— “Trained assassins!” The audience gasped at just the right time, and Zeke had to contain his grin, molding his face into a look of serious intrigue. A skeptical voice came from the back, “Both of them? And a maiden assassin, really?” “YES, both of them!” Zeke affirmed, getting up on top of the stone wall of the fire pit with his lute in one hand and his ale in the other. “And of course a maiden, why not? Maidens can be just as vicious.” Someone barked with laughter and Zeke pointed a finger in the voice’s general direction, swaying precariously on his feet. “This man knows what I’m talking about!” He felt a tug on his trouser leg and looked down to see Micah gazing sternly up at him. “Get down from there, before you hurt yourself,” she hissed. “I won’t have you burning down my tavern if that coat catches fire.” Zeke nodded, cleared his throat and plopped back down on his minstrel bench. Micah shook her head and went back to serving patrons while he entertained. “So,” he said calmly, collecting himself, “Two deadly assassins, both with one singular quest…To murder.” He stopped at that, suddenly grasping at the memory he needed to finish the story. Wait a minute…did he get an element of the story wrong? What happened next? He racked his brain, but there was just a big blank where that chunk of story was supposed to be. He swore he’d reviewed his notes last night…Maybe there had been a thief involved. No, a thief princess!…Well, he’d already introduced Nise as a fancyboots lady assassin. Shyke. He downed the last dregs of his ale and looked at his options—There was always the awkward naked Snakebeast subplot. Hm. That could work.

[Aislyn Leavold]

Well, it was most certainly Zeke. That much was sure.
What wasn’t sure, however, was what the hai Zeke was doing.
He appeared to be telling a story, that was sure, but the strange, extravagant hand movements and extreme excitement over the story were something new. He hadn’t been this animated when he’d told the story of that story- the one about the village, with the bandits… And the sound effects.
Ruzekiel was certainly an interesting storyteller.

This story, however, was definitely not the one about the village and the bandits and the sound effects. This one, supposedly, was based on a true story, about three travelers who’d met in the tavern…

Aislyn didn’t like the story right off the bat. It was just like last time. A story far too close to comfort, though it was always different in some way. Marginally different, really. In hindsight, the story Zeke had first told had really nothing to do with Aislyn’s life. Why would this one be any different? It would just be a routine story, retold every night to a new set of drunkards.
Still, when Zeke sent a gaze her way, she avoided his eye.

That is, until he began describing something she really didn’t like.
”There was a beautiful, mysterious maiden who could magically change her clothing at will, a pluck ale-addled bard, and a terrifying but noble snakebeast…”
Aislyn’s heart skipped a beat. In fact, it seemed to skip several beats, and the woman had to check if her heart was, in fact, still beating, just to make sure Ruzekiel’s story hadn’t given her a heart attack and she was, unfortunately, dead. Magically changing clothing. The choice of word ‘snakebeast’... The exact same nickname Zeke had used to describe Reysin. The Dhani shyke from the night Aislyn had gotten herself lost in a magically changing maze. Not her best night.
And yet, here Zeke was, telling the story that had nearly gotten them- all of them- killed.

As much as Aislyn liked the man (and his naivety), Aislyn really didn’t want him telling this tale. She had to do something, and yet… She couldn’t. She was trapped, once again, by the presence of others. The other taverngoers, even Zeke himself. She couldn’t make a move, not now, and especially not looking like she did. She was ‘Maya’. She’d never set foot in this tavern before, nor ever seen anyone within it. She had to play the part. No mistakes.

Ruzekiel continued on, now describing ‘Simon The Bold’, or ‘The Snakebeast’, as Zeke had fittingly named him. Aislyn listened intently with a worried expression, though she forced herself into sitting attentively, her fingers finding their way to the locket around her neck, which she clicked open and closed nervously. She found herself holding her breath when the bard began describing ‘The Pretty Maiden’, also known as Aislyn herself. More specifically, her illusion, Thief, who had gone under the name Nise during their… Eventful meeting. She only allowed herself to breathe when Zeke stumbled over his words, landing on the name ‘Nell’.
Thank Ionu for the man’s choice of changing the adventurer’s names. A slight comfort, at least.

Accepting a mug of some strongly scented drink from the local bartender, Aislyn took a place to the side of the crowd, in perfect view of Ruzekiel, but still rather out of sight. Perfect to listen to the story, which had been launched into a fairly over exaggerated description of the Garden of No Return. It seemed Aislyn had missed some things during the maze adventure, as, in her memory, ‘Snakebeast’ and ‘Fancyboots’, also known as Rey and Aislyn, were not trained assassins. Silently feuding, perhaps, but on the path to murder? Not so much. Creative license, she supposed, but… Assassins? Had that been what Ruzekiel had been thinking about the entire time the other two had been trying to escape the maze? Assassins?.
The woman wasn’t sure whether to be annoyed or entertained.

No matter, as the story continued, Aislyn found herself rather enjoying the story as it differed further and further from the truth. Deadly assassins, neither with the name ‘Rey’ or ‘Nise’, and no mention of Aislyn’s illusions. It began sounding nothing like the terrifying experience the illusionist remembered undergoing. If only she could manage to drive the story farther from what had really happened, then the pieces would fall into place.
Luckily, it seemed Ionu graced her with the perfect opportunity. Just as Ruzekiel reached an almost height of the story, a blank look crossed his face, and the man fell into an awkward silence. It seemed as if he had forgotten what he had been doing up there in the first place. This was the perfect opportunity, and, with her newfound confidence, gained from whatever drink she’d been handed, Aislyn proceeded to stand up, finishing Zeke’s sentence for him.

”-To murder each other, right? The assassins, hot on each other’s trails, sent to kill each other on sight.”

[Ruzekiel Soren]

Thank Morwen! His muse had sent reinforcements. He pointed in the general direction of the voice from the back that reminded him of the convoluted mess of a plot he had created and exclaimed, “Precisely! Yes. Two assassins, both with orders to kill the other, waiting for their chance while they pose as tentative companions…all the while preparing to strike.” He let out an internal sigh of relief. Whoever that woman was that spoke up had just saved him a lot of embarrassment. He had to stop drinking so much, before he forgot where his head was. Nah. “Which leads us again to your friendly neighborhood bard,” Zeke continued, gaining momentum. He gestured to Micah hopefully with his empty tankard. She gave him a stern look and kept moving among the patrons. Drat. “It so happened that the bard was wandering closer to the pair than he thought, and as he trudged along the muddy, rain-slick path he came across another hedge, from which came the sounds of two aggravated people talking. Little did he know, it was a heated argument between the two rival assassins, having just realized that their respective quarries were more predator than prey. The disguised Snakebeast fancied to strike first, so in the heat of their verbal battle, he transformed from human to creature!” Zeke made a weird waving motion with his hands to indicate some sort of magic happening. Then he got to the fun part. “Now I should probably mention that Dhani, when transforming from human to snake, tend to leave a few…certain human things behind,” Zeke explained, waggling his eyebrows and plucking at his tunic. Someone giggled in the corner. He launched right back in. “Towering over poor Fancyboots in all his snakebeastly glory, Simon the assassin slithered towards the killer maiden, fangs bared, promising gory violence and death and dismemberment! At the same time, the bard made to struggle through the hedge, but as he walked towards it his foot snagged on a root—” Zeke mimed a tripping motion and waved his arms as if trying to break a fall—“And he fell, WHAM, right into the Dhani’s path!” A few chuckles rippled through the crowd. Zeke found himself starting to chuckle a little bit himself just thinking about the Rey fiasco; when he detached himself from his own embarrassments he found that the worst moments were often the most amusing afterwards. Which is why he continued the story with as much honesty he could muster. “The bard stumbled forward trying to right himself, and he looked up, to see the hyuge snakebeast standing before him—NAKED.” The audience roared with laughter, but Zeke was pretty sure most of them weren’t quite all there. Heh. An inebriated audience was a happy audience. Usually. Sometimes. Zeke proceeded to mime the bard’s terrified faint right into the lap of a man that he had scouted a few minutes before. The man was jovial enough and Zeke decided that if he did “swoon” this particular patron would not stab him in the face for being in his personal space. He’d learned that lesson in Sylrias. The moment Zeke’s back grazed the man’s knee he bounced right back from the mimicry — an impressive maneuver that he cheekily dubbed the “Feint” some years back, when he was a smaller lad and was periodically forced to take up the woman’s part in a play when the only girl in their troupe was ill. Again. Now he suspected that they were just using it as an excuse to laugh at him. And laugh they did. Back in the present Zeke bounced away from the front-row patron and continued the tale with a full tankard. The man looked down at his hands and was about to protest when Micah expertly put another mug in his grasp. Zeke continued without batting an eye. “When the two assassins realized their predicament—that is, being stuck in a dark, magical mage with no way out but with their wits, and burdened with an unconscious civilian—They decided at that moment to cease their conflict in order to work together to find their way out of the Garden—so that they could duel later.” Zeke made a swordfighting motion and mimed getting stabbed in the stomach. He was really into miming recently. He went on to describe in detail all the trudging and griping, and the moment they discovered that they could use the flora to navigate. He described Nell’s sacrifice to the “hedges of DOOOOM” (“Doom!” echoed a taverngoer heartily), and how her skirt seemed to be made of mind-tricks instead of fabric, and finally reached the climax of his story, when he and Rey came close to the exit, only to hear and later witness the scuffle and scrape of Nise scrambling to escape the Garden—without them. “So Nell the assassin sprinted off into the night, never to be seen again. Rey and the bard went back to the tavern, where they parted ways.” Silence. The crackle of the fire. A patron coughing quietly. “So…that’s it?” “That’s it,” Zeke said. “She just…gone.” His face fell. The silence stretched on. Someone cleared their throat. Come to think of it he probably should’ve thought up a better ending. “Forget the maiden! Play us a song, bard!” A hard chunk of bread sailed past his ear. “Whoa!—Allright, a song then.” He was glad. Storytelling was hard. With the lute it always felt easier. Songs were like stories, only not as messy as most. More elegant in their own way. Zeke was quite content to play a song. He plunked down at the edge of the stone firepit and picked up his lute, setting it across his knee and grasping the neck. He plucked a few strings experimentally and played a quick scale to make sure the lute was tuned properly, then looked up expectantly at the thinning crowd. “So! What shall I play for you tonight? An epic, an aria, a hymn, a canticle? Something folksy perhaps?”

[Aislyn Leavold]

Immediately after she raised her voice, Aislyn felt eyes on her. Not only because of her sudden outburst, but also because of the unfortunate fact that, with her illusions the way they were, she looked like she shouldn’t have been anywhere near a tavern. She looked much too… soft. Which, in this case, was not a good thing.
Still, the woman kept her eyes on the bard, refusing to meet any of the confused stares that were being sent her way. The man certainly had a knack for improvisation, and the illusionist had solidified her gaze on the show. Soon enough, as the entertainer began to grow his story, the patrons forgot about the woman who had somehow known the lines to a story that had never been told before.

As the story continued, Aislyn could feel the tale return to the storyline that was too close to the truth for her liking. Petch. She’d derailed the story for a bit, but not for long. Zeke had obviously memorized the facts beforehand, and there was no opportunity to stop him now. All she could do was sit and listen as a story she’d hoped would never see the light of day was dramatically retold to a room of eager- but drunk- taverngoers.
”It so happened that the bard was wandering closer to the pair than he thought, and as he trudged along the muddy, rain-slick path he came across another hedge, from which came the sounds of two aggravated people talking…”

In her mind, Aislyn was piecing together Ruzekiel’s part of the story with what she remembered from the night. He must have been describing the unfortunate incident right before Aislyn had made her first attempt to escape Reysin. Her face grew hot with a mixture of anger and embarrassment at the memory of the failed plan. She braced herself for the part in which Zeke would say something along the lines of then the bard crashed right into Fancyboots, knocking her square into the mud.

Surprisingly, that line never came.

It seemed the storyteller had decided to spice up the story with a bit of a tall tale of his own. Aislyn let out a sigh of relief. Zeke was unknowingly cutting her, piece by piece, out of the real story, replacing her with a fictional character of a similar name. There was no way she’d be tied to it then, right?
There was only one way to know for sure, and that was to keep a keen eye on what story was being told, be it real or fiction.

When the storyteller launched into a description of how the “Snakebeast” had attacked, it was all Aislyn could do to stop herself from nodding in agreement. His recountment wasn’t the most accurate- especially regarding the part in which he referred to “Fancyboots” as “Poor”.
She hated being pitied. She would have won that argument, hands down, obviously. Reysin had just… cheated.

By then, Ruzekiel had taken the audience by storm, leaving them in stitches by the time he had finished the part where Ruzekiel had unceremoniously fainted. Aislyn remembered that part of the story- the real story, very well. For a relatively small man, he seemed to weigh more than double what Aislyn could have ever dreamed of lifting. It had almost killed her to ask Reysin for help. The smug bastard.

As the story came to a close, Aislyn was fully preparing herself for some ending filled with another tall tale- perhaps a duel between the two “assassins”, or “Simon” simply devouring them both.
Unfortunately, the eager audience seemed unimpressed when Zeke decided to tell the truth.
“So Nell the assassin sprinted off into the night, never to be seen again. Rey and the bard went back to the tavern, where they parted ways.”

Aislyn, however, was not so disappointed. He’d gone through the whole story without mentioning a single thing that could tie her to that night. Her pounding heart calmed itself at the notion, even if the night hadn’t ended yet. Even with the paranoia at the back of her mind, she felt obligated to go say a few words to Ruzekiel, or at least suggest an idea for what to do next. Especially since the audience seemed to be getting restless after the awkward ending to his earlier story.

So, reluctantly, Aislyn gathered herself and what little she had brought with her, repositioning herself in a spot next to the bard. For a few seconds, she said nothing, but when the audience provided no suggestions for a song, she took matters into her own hands with the only song she knew:

”Excuse me, but could you play ‘Rabbit In The Rosebush’?”

[Ruzekiel Soren]

“Excuse me?” A tentative voice spoke up from a spot not so far away from his perch, and he turned to see its owner—a soft-looking young woman with flaxen hair. She seemed a bit out of place in this evening’s crowd. With a start, he realized it was that same woman’s voice that had saved his carcass of a story moments ago. He should know better by now not to bring so much real life into his tales. And to invest in some sort of journal to keep his haphazard thoughts in. He was vaguely aware of several key pieces missing from the story he just…might have ruined, but he was quickly losing the memories anyway. Zeke hated endings. Where had she been during the rotten fruit incident? He smiled bemusedly at the intriguing young woman. For a moment she fidgeted, while they both looked expectantly around the room for someone, anyone else to speak up, until finally she put forth her own request. “Could you play Rabbit in the Rosebush?” Ah! An excellent tune! One that he remembered half of fondly. A plotweaver with a good taste in music as well. Briefly he wondered where she had sprung up from. He’d never seen her before, he didn’t think. He was always looking for an excuse to go off-book with stories and songs alike, and this melody was perfect to play around with. Zeke grinned at her. “For you, milady, anytime. Folksy it is!” The bard grasped the wide stringed neck of his lute and set his fingers across the strings in preparation for a lively arpeggio. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath as his right hand hovered over the strings, the left fingers pressed hard against the frets. The E string felt a little too taut, but it would suffice. He should get these old strings changed anyway. They hadn’t been for years. Still, the battered old lute was well-loved and had served him well for countless bells of carousing and festivity. Zeke started off slow, with a lazy plucking that belied what was to come, making the latter that much more surprising. He pictured the spring day that this song painted for him, shooting an occasional glance at the woman sitting near him, wondering where he’d seen her before. He felt the fading sunlight and the warm breeze against his face as a nimble jackrabbit hopped its way through the grass, taking the occasional nibble. He felt the cheerful curiosity with which the rabbit approached the rosebush, and the twang of pain from the point of its thorns. Thus began a lively dance, a standoff between rabbit-food and rabbit. Soon came the point that Zeke had forgotten most of the tune, but he had the basic chords and enough to work with that improvising was easy, fun even. He just had to be sure not to stray from the basic harmonic structure that the song provided. As the song progressed, he had to focus more on the music and less on the audience (and the intriguing helpful storyteller). His fingers plucked and strummed faster and faster as it went on, and he began to supplement the usually simple tune with a few extra flourishes. If he stumbled he made sure not to show it, as was his habit, and his foot began tapping in tune as he felt the audience with him. In time that tapping became a stamp, as the frenzied melody moved into country barn dance territory. This was his favorite (and most difficult part). His fingers were already beginning to tire, but he barged on like a child with his first set of drums, feeling the smile widen on his face as he reveled in the refreshing beat, and the freedom he had with the notes. A few taverngoers got up and started dancing. Well this was turning out to be a fine night after all! He nodded briefly in thanks to his mystery helper, but soon had to focus on simply getting the notes out fast enough once again as the uppity melody sped up again for the chorus, the words to which had been lost to him.

[Aislyn Leavold]

Aislyn wasn’t sure she liked the tune she’d requested quite as much as she remembered it.
Sure, it was a nice song, with some vaguely folk roots, but the underlying tone of extreme panic from the night she’d first heard it was not her most favourite thing in the world.
Sitting down by the bard, Aislyn confided in her thoughts. So far, so good. Or, as good as it could be, considering she could feel quite a few pairs of eyes on her. This hadn’t happened last time. She’d been under a different face that time, but the difference between then and now was slightly annoying. It seemed like almost a challenge, trying to find a face that belonged in a place like this. Even as Thief, or Nise, or whatever she’d chosen, she’d stuck out.
Then again, the whole bright-eyed-light-hair look wasn’t all that belonging either.
Maya was not the guise to be under in a tavern, and certainly not the guise to be drawing attention to. Maya was, after all, one of her more social personas, but still…
As the waiter woman came around again, refilling the tavern goers’ mugs. Good marketing. A drunk patron never ceased to be a happy one.
Or a very rambunctious one.
Usually the latter.

As the song progressed to a much more dance-y theme, Aislyn found herself tapping along. There appeared to be a sort of organized attempt at dancing in the midst of the tavern. That is, if organized was a bunch of moderately to severely drunk men attempting to drag the mostly unmoved female patrons into dancing with them. Or, in one or two cases, vice versa.
It was rather amusing.

Glancing over to where Ruzekiel sat, Aislyn noted the wide smile he’d adopted. The happy tune seemed roughly unrehearsed, yet still the bard looked so comfortable playing it. Improvisation was key, and Zeke obviously knew it well. In the way the song flowed and flew around the room, it seemed self-explanatory, the way he played. Not that Aislyn had much experience in music. She couldn’t play an instrument to save her life, and, though she enjoyed singing (quietly and alone, of course), she had never taken lessons. Her voice was nice, maybe, but natural ‘niceness’ didn’t allow you to hold a tune.

Recalling the tune, Aislyn leaned back against the wall, humming along. At several points, the song diverged from what Aislyn remembered, surprising her hummed tune with the louder one, courtesy of Ruzekiel. She had to hand it to him; his improvisation with the song was almost rehearsed. If she hadn't been familiar (if familiar was having heard it once before) with the song, she probably wouldn't have been able to notice.

All too soon, however, the song began to wind down, and Aislyn found herself concentrating intently on wrapping her fingers around the locket at her neck. Maybe coming here wasn’t the best idea. Maybe her idea of ‘meeting Ruzekiel again’ was misplaced. What if he recognized her? Not that he could, her illusion was impeccable… Right?

[Ruzekiel Soren]

Slowly the melody reached its conclusion and Zeke finished with a final flourish to scattered applause. He had faltered once or twice with the tempo, but had managed to rein the song back in when he got ahead of himself or missed a note. After years of playing he was still learning. All in all it was a passable experiment, and “Rosebush” still remained one of his favorite pieces. He learned it when he was young and it brought pleasant memories. Zeke set down his lute and took himself a well-earned swig of ale as the patrons began to talk amongst themselves again and a few staggered back to their seats. It had been a long night and soon his shift would be over, but he wanted a chance to talk to this curious fair-haired stranger that sat nearby on a stone bench with her back to the wall. She had been engaged from what he saw—she’d probably heard this particular song before. In her homeland perhaps? He’d never seen someone like her in the Wolf’s Cave before. She was too…gentle. Too soft. Yet he couldn’t shake the feeling that she was familiar somehow, like he should know this woman. He set down the tankard and sat facing towards her, elbows on his knees and propping up his chin with his hand. “So,” he asked quietly, almost to himself, eyes narrowed with curiosity. “What brings a lass like you to a place like this? What’s your story?” He had to know her story. In fact it was usually his custom to find that out of everyone, unless he was distracted, which was most of the time. “Give us another tune, you poxy lazybones!” Heh. Speaking of distractions. “In a chime, fair citizen, unless you’d like to donate to the buy-back-Zeke’s-horse fund!” Zeke jibed back. He gave his empty lute case a gentle kick for emphasis. Unfortunately it was his job to play, and he reluctantly took up his lute with a passing glance at the blonde stranger. “I’ll take it from here, if you’d like.” A new voice cut through the raucous chatter of the tavern. Zeke looked up to see a tall, broad figure with a travel bag slung across his back, carrying a fiddle case. The traveller set his bag down on a table, called Micah over for a pint and swiftly took out his fiddle and bow. Zeke had been playing for hours, after all. He saw Micah and locked eyes with her, raising a questioning eyebrow. She paused for a moment, then nodded. The traveller started up a jaunty melody and the bard set his lute in its case for safe-keeping. Zeke jumped at the chance to socialize with the stranger sitting by the wall; without pause he made his way towards her and sat down next to her, perchance to pepper her with questions, as was his habit. “You saved my hide back there, miss. You’d think by now I’d remember my own tales, eh?” He grinned with a sort of signature, lopsided charm and held out his hand. “I’m Zeke. Zeke Soren.”