Solo Cause We're All in the Mood for a Melody

[Prophet]

Summer 27, 516
1st Bell
Snowsong Arvinta

In the still of the night…

The halls were quiet. The scuttling of tiny feet pitter-pattered along the warm length of dark shadows. Twice, the beady little eyes shifted back and forth between themselves as they waited along a piece of corner trim. Silence…more silence; suddenly it was interrupted by the flapping of tiny wings.

Three figures rose from the floor and made their way along the wooden wainscoting towards a pre-determined target. The plan was flawless; years in the making. The plan. Vetted and tested in several dry runs, there had never been an incident or delay; not even so much as a hiccup. Then he walked out. Hand on his privates and another holding a nearly empty bottle of wine, the man was robed but it was not tied. He was surprised to see two men staring at him and opened his mouth to speak. Sadly, he never was given the chance as a thud from the shadows caused his eyes to roll back into his head and his knees to give out.

Like a machine that was perfectly oiled, one man caught the unconscious fellow, another caught the wine bottle and the third very quietly shut the door to the man’s room. This was perfectly orchestrated and what made it impressive was that it was done impromptu. Here is where the cart lost its wheel. The interruption was now a diverted track down a one way road and the three sets of eyes peered at one another for long ticks using nonverbal communication; mostly facial expressions and head nods to figure out the next move.

The world had stopped save for the howling the frigid winds outside of the Snowsong Arvinta. Finally, the one who had incapacitated the man began to move and waved his arm for the others to bring the Vantha. One put the bottle of wine outside the door to help his companion with the dead weight. They did as instructed and before long, the quartet was staring at a very distinct painting. The outline of Avanthal was glowing in the light of Leth but the way the paint was mixed made it come to life. Sparkles on the frosted mugs, glistening lips of lovers entwined and the starlit twinkling of children’s eyes all seemed to surround the radiant face of Morwen. The apparent leader smirked and took a step back.

The hall was filled with a silvery glow from the face a lover punished for his heart but a conflict soon arose. Near the painting, a new light emerged. Swirling tendrils of a putrid green snaked from the outstretched hands of the invader. He moved his digits about and wove the threads of res into a ball that balanced between his grasp. His eyes pierced the djed as if speaking to it. As the orb grew in size to that of a large pumpkin, the two men with beady eyes moved back a few feet and drug their prisoner as well. Four more ticks revealed a massive sphere of res that was nearly the size of the painting itself. With a whisper blown gently over his lips, the reimancer ignited the res which changed the eerie green to a vibrant ball of orange, red and yellow flames. He pushed the boulder of fire forward as one might coax a stubborn mule.

“A chariot of fire.” He uttered.

Instantly, the painting melted and the magically induced inferno sank into the heavy wooden wall. The heat was tremendous and then suddenly, there was biting cold. Once the opening had been made, the mage raised both hands with fingers outstretched towards the slow-moving fireball. He felt the res within it and in unison, he brought both hands down to his side into fists; an action that extinguished the flames and returned the unspent res to its owner.

The fire mage’s comrades exited the hole with their captive. All of them were now cold but the plan kicked back into effect. Four figures ran up from the shadows. One went to the wall and heaved snow onto the burning ring of fire until it was just cold wood -charred with a painful memory. Two took over for the ones who had the prisoner. The man was gagged, bound and tossed into a heavy sackcloth which was then tied shut. The fourth stood back and watched as his infiltrators shifted once more into their natural forms. He squatted down and laid his hand upon the snow, palm up. Two mice quickly made their way to it and used his clothing to ascend up his sleeve and then disappear into one of the many layers of hoods and scarves. The leader, the firemage, shifted as well though he bore the grey and white wings of a white-tailed kite. The raptor lifted up and swooped around before alighting upon the man’s shoulder. The fiery eyes gazed about keeping watch.

This new leader made for the shadows of the buildings and his men followed with the package in tow. Not even the snow crunched around them; their stealth was superb. It was a long, painful process to move through the Hold area to the outer wall. Timing was everything in the plan. Amidst the frozen landscape, howling winds that could strip skin from bone and the bottomless temperature they waited. Shivering in layers upon layers of fur, they waited.

A sharp whistle, brief and off pitch from the wind, caught the head man’s attention. He looked up to see a rope come sailing over the city wall. As the group moved upon it, the body in the bag began to stir. Unfortunately, he was clubbed with a triple-gloved fist with the equivalent force of being hit with a tree trunk. He would get the sensation of falling; like falling inside the black.

On a long and lonesome highway east of Avanthal…

When next he awoke, it would be tethered to a dogsled and skirting over the icy tundra. He was well covered in the sack, still bound, still gagged but they had pulled his head free to make sure he didn’t die. Through the sailing snow and icy mist, Epifanio Snowsong could see some of his captors. Four dogsled teams mushed across the ice at a furious speed bearing himself -the only captive, and a bunch of supplies as well as six men. No features could be distinguished. The rags they wore covered every inch of their bodies and blended into the landscape in all manner of blues and greys. The snow added its own white plus a bit of texture. No one paid him any mind and onward they drove into the night. Leth was nearly down and there was a looming shadow of a strange looking glacier formation in the distance. Answers would be had.

[Epifanio Snowsong]

Title and Date

Epifanio Snowsong grew up in Avanthal, born and raised, a Vantha like no other. Even to his parents, he was far more dramatic than the others in his hold. When his thoughts became logical, and his mind reached a point of awareness, he developed into a man quickly. Music, epic stories, grand adventures; they were all a part of building Epifanio to what he was today, a bard. Though, the man wasn’t like typical bards. He often criticized himself against the other Vantha. He was different. The boundaries of his heart stopped at the word sex. Though it was typical for the children of Morwen to marry into other holds; he wanted no part of it. He recognized the secret affairs and the heartbreak that came with it. So, he locked up his heart and unbuttoned his trousers, at least the moments he wore them.

It was no surprise that he would make enemies by doing such, and it hadn’t ever occurred to him that his antics could have led to the demise of his parents. When they died, it was hard on him. He blamed the polar bears. He blamed Kelvics and had since developed a not so secret hatred towards them. He blames everyone but himself, and it never occurred to him to be the reason of his parent’s death. All he knew was that they were killed by a kelvic polar bear.

Life was taking an unexpected turn for Epifanio. All of his core beliefs were crashing down around him. As he sat reflecting on his life he was writing down lyrics to yet another song that Rhaus had graced him with. He would write from his heart and soul, rarely thinking about what it was that came out. He often would try to explain it to others but would just laugh on the inside. It was late into the night, and the bard had already stripped himself down, but couldn’t sleep. His conscious was starting to crumble in the city of ice and snow. Throwing himself from his bed and gathering his sheets he headed over to his desk draping the sheets over his body and his pan-flute armband. He put quill to book and the lyrics and also wrote down the occasional musical note while blowing into his flute.
“Oh Father, where have you been?
Wayward winds sing at my door,
Tales of misery through my heart-beat.
Oh Mother, Where have you been?
Wayward winds sing at my walls,
Tales of misery through my heart-beat.
When I run through this icy land,
After this all begun,
I hope for a trace; I’ll follow your hand.
Hear me sing to the stars!
They’ll dance just for you.
Oh Father, where have you been?
Hear the songs all around
…”
Just as he was about to finish writing, he was out of ink. Growing a bit frustrated the tired man grumbled: “The Hall should have more…” Standing up, he decided to head to the hall of aural creation. He robed the sheets around him and stepped outside of his door. It wasn’t soon after that the bard was knocked unconscious. Something that would have happened despite the abduction due to the wine he had been drinking.

As he awoke, he was filled with sudden sickness, and not just that of a hangover. No, this time, it was motion sickness, pain, and confusion. He was being dragged behind a sled of mushers. His body occasionally flailing about in the sack drifting behind the sled. His face and head sometimes falling into the unpacked snow. The cold was biting, but luckily for him, he had his gift from Morwen. After opening his eyes, he grunted and almost screamed in panic. At one moment he was in the safety of his halls and the next being dragged behind a sled in the middle of the artic wastes. He would have yelled out if it wasn’t because he couldn’t open mouth. He had been gagged.

Epifanio had to do something. The perilous dragging of his body in a sack behind the sled was making his body very sore. He attempted to get his feet directly under him. The sudden change from his docile state caused a slight drag into the soft snow. The sack went tumbling about from side to side and with him only able to look forward he noticed his captures. Ragged and poorly dressed individuals and six of them. He could see the dogs mushing through the snow. The time to act was now. He couldn’t take much more of this he had no idea where he was going or why, but the time to act was now.

His arms and legs seemed constrained, but there was one thing the bard took notice of. He could see his flute jutting out from the sack that he was being dragged in. Likely caused by the excessive movement while he was unconscious. “That woman may have saved me.” He thought while he thrusted his legs down and his back up. The action caused the pipe to cut a decent sized hole in the burlap sack. His naked body immediately felt the fresh cold snow layer onto him. After a while continuing to struggle he found the terrain starting to slowly change into a stiffer and slicker form, ice.

He was desperate to find a way to get out of this situation. Tilting his head to the right, he managed to use his flute to pull his gag down and out his mouth. The resulting action caused his sack to lean as well. His flute carved into the ice, and then it hit him. Whispering “Morwen, you are supposed to protect us. Now is the time.” Calling upon the power of his Goddess he melted a significant portion of ice while he was being dragged. He instantly fell into the ice water and slammed into the side of unmelted terrain.

The tension and speed of the sled were no match for the rope, and it snapped. Struggling in the small pool of water that was quickly becoming a slush the bard was now able to easily remove his head from the sack and wormed his way out of it onto the ground. He didn’t even care to try and see if his captors took notice, he was far too busy trying to free himself from his binds. Biting at the ropes on his wrists he eventually managed to untie them. Full of adrenaline and mildly shocked from the experience the bard started to laugh almost uncontrollably only for it to settle into a silent mutter “Even Rhaus will hear of this tale. I will make sure of it.”

As the bard worked on untying his feet with his naked arse sticking full up into the cold biting wind he heard something approach from the distance, though he was still too shaken to be able to discern what it was. His eyes grew wide with panic staring down at the ground before him. A large chunk of ice (a result from his body slamming into it) was before him. Clutching he once again reaved the ice, this time into a deadlier and far pointier shard resembling the one thing he was very familiar with; an arrow. Turning around he was ready to face whatever was coming his way.

[Prophet]

The dog sleds didn’t seem to notice or care that their package had come free. The night grew quiet as the sounds of runners scraping over the ice faded into the east. It was black with clouds and the wind howled but it did very little in terms of precipitation. The Vantha had done well to arm himself but when he finally found his feet and turned to face his kidnappers, there would be none. Like any who had been displaced in such a manner, the safety of watching his captors ride away would give him leave to turn towards the west; towards home. It is this action that would reveal just how important of a prize he truly was for with a single turn -a quick pivot, Epifanio would be arm’s length from the gaping maw of a Talderan Sabertooth. The long fangs were greyish in their tint but tipped black (an indication of prime age for the big predator). It's hard to say what goes through a man's head when he's staring at the eye of the tiger.

As if the most feared beast in all of the tundra wasn’t enough to set the grim reality of his situation, the striped creature bore a rider. The man wore rags, wraps and furs like his companions but also bore the bones of many animals all over his body like ornaments or even armor. Behind a visor made from a wolf’s skull, empty eyes peered at the man in his naked and defensive form. No motion was taken and no order given; just a good solid examination of the specimen. The rider believed the drooling hot breath of his mount might be enough to end the charade of escape. The sabertooth glared at the Vantha as if waiting for his eyes to change to a color that the big feline didn’t like. The beast was rather large as shown by his shoulders which stood over four feet high and the mouth looked big enough to swallow the human’s head in a single bite. For several moments, it was simply a matter of recognition and realization. The rider was patient and still. If the nude bard looked close enough, he would see bone weapons adorning the figure as well as what appeared to be a short-handled halberd made of ice stone.

Suddenly, four men appeared on foot from the flanks dressed in similar apparel but with less bones. They were, however, very well armed with spears, daggers, axes, and a bow. One of them looked to the sabertooth rider who gave a shallow nod. A heavy robe and some boots were produced and tossed at Epifanio. The rogue who threw them forward then stepped a few feet closer with a set of iron shackles. In the dark, it was hard to make out their eyes but the steady arrow drawn at him and other weapons should be enough to persuade cooperation. A shrill scratch, brief and piercing, ripped the silence and was gone. Beneath the front paw of the sabertooth, a set of fresh claw marks rested in the permafrost. The wrap around the face of her rider shifted a bit. Though the Vantha could not see it, the leader was smiling.

[Epifanio Snowsong]

Title and Date

Realization. Fear. Many thoughts and feelings washed through the bard at the moment he turned around to head home. He was confronted by a fairly large animal, and was already staring death in the face being as naked as he was. Taking a few slow steps back the bard only tightened his grip with the ice arrow in his hand. He didn’t dare say a single word intimidated that he might provoke an attack. The way that these people dressed and the way they handled themselves were so foreign.

As the chimes went by and nothing had happened he realized what was going on. They wanted him and for some reason alive. The others he was captured by went through great lengths to try and abduct him from the city of Avanthal. He almost wondered if they were the same, but this time… he was instead greeted by an offer of boots and a heavy robe. The bard was cold and he had no choice. He almost dove at the chance to put them on, but did such hurriedly, still keeping his arrow in his hand. When the same bandit stepped towards him with iron shackles the bard dashed backwards and in the same instance put the arrow to his own throat.

“No. If you want me, I come on my own. No shackles. No weapons at my back. No burlap sack. No funny stuff. I will intrigue you for taking so much effort just to capture me, but if you are to try anything against me, don’t think I won’t drive this arrow into my own throat.” The bard spoke in broken common, but it would be easy enough to understand.

Epifanio was serious about his statements, and it only reflected in his eyes. The arrow pressed deeper when the silence was almost deafening and the tiger scratched against the ice. Epifanio looked up to the stars and was not offered any answers from the cold silence. As a result, from his dash backwards his robe fell down to his arms and the flute remained exposed. The brief wind caused the flute to idly chirp and whistle. He was reminded of who and what he was. A bard of his stature was far too stubborn and hard headed to not play his captures like he did his music.

A slight trickle of blood slid down the ice arrow in the result of heartfelt pressure and seriousness in the bard’s statement. The slight movement of an attack or attempt to shackle him would plunge the arrow in and up. He would rather kill himself than be taken without his own free will. Furthermore, his knowledge in stories and fairy tales told him how this might play out, and he would not succumb to such horrors.

His eyes were fierce but for some reason he was more accepting to the situation if he attempted to be put in a status that gave him at least a little bit of control. He spoke out once again, his eyes darting around to notice any movement “I also want to know why. What is your interest in me?”

Should the questions be answered and he be allowed to come along of his own accord he would remain to keep his arrow clutched in his hand, pull his robe back over him and cradle it to his body and follow along to wherever the group of bandits were headed.