Closed A Hand of Welcome

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A city floating in the center of a lake, Ravok is a place of dark beauty, romance and culture. Behind it all though is the presence of Rhysol, God of Evil and Betrayal. The city is controlled by The Black Sun, a religious organization devoted to Rhysol. [Lore]

A Hand of Welcome

Postby Baran on April 30th, 2017, 3:29 pm

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6th Spring 517 AV
Early morning, before daybreak
"Speech"

Baran woke from a restless slumber to a distant, tolling bell. One, two, three, four, five... He counted the chimes, their melodious meaning, and assumed it was the fifth bell. He coughed, and rubbed sleep from his eyes, still in a daze from sleep. Then the musician realised where he was, and grinned. After that, it took no time at all until the man was out of bed and slipping into his clothes, still travel-worn from his journey. He felt peculiar, not his best, so he took a sip of water from the jug and opened the window to lean out into the still-slumbering city.

Despite the quietness of the morning however, there were still sounds that drifted over the houses and watery streets. Industry was awakening, and he watched a couple of traders hauling heavy sacks onto a ravosala for a few moments as he wiped his face in the cool morning air. It was perfect, to be in such an organised place. Baran smiled, and submerged back into his rented room to get ready for the day.

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Half a bell later, the man felt a little better, if still not quite clean or fresh. He had washed his face and hair with cool water straight from the jug, then shaved away some of his stubble (but not all), just about managing to avoid cutting himself. But he had awoken too early to find what he wanted- a wash, new clothes, and a job. So he paced the small room for a moment before deciding to put in a spot of practice before leaving.

The walls were undoubtedly quite thin, his snoring next door neighbour was a testament to that, but he didn't care or even think of the consequences. If he irritated someone, then so be it. He withdrew the gamba from it's case, and tightened the bow hairs slowly as he stretched and massaged his hands awake. Then, slowly, he drew the bow across the strings and began to tune.

The music followed, mostly slow pieces to begin with. He was in a strange mood, both excited and introspective. His thoughts turned slowly as he warmed up, revolving abstractly, his fingers falling into neat patterns as he played familiar pieces he'd played many times over. The bell had tolled the sixth bell by the time he awoke from his trance and began to focus again.

Baran knew a lot of music, from lots of different places. There were the songs of Kenash that he knew from his mother and father, traditional lullabies for the most part. Then there were the songs and tunes from Alvadas, quirky, unusual, the sort of thing he had picked up in his youth there. Pieces from Sunberth, rowdy and upbeat. All the places he'd ever been he had tried to learn at least a handful of pieces from each one. Now he needed to add Ravok to the list, and he wondered where the best place to go was.

But the piece of music he began to practice then was a strange, singing tune that he had heard sang by a Konti in the Stallion's Rear in Alvadas. The words were not words as such, more hummings and patterns of sound. He began slowly, trying to feel the fragments of melody in his head, listening to the Konti woman as he remembered her. The mood had been quiet and moody, with the soft crackling of the fire and golden shafts of sunlight illuminating the woman's platinum locks.

He sang, quietly, his voice cracking to begin with. He sang a wordless melody, letting the pitch rise and fall until he found the right note. He sang gently, even, strange for a man with quite a loud, outspoken voice. He sang with a kind of lonely passion, even if his voice was rusty and wavering. The musician felt peace, the kind of peace that you can only feel when you are completely alone with your own voice, when you shut out the rest of the world and become one with yourself. It was perfect, and he sang until he ran out of melody.
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Baran
"If you steal my gamba, I will gut you."
 
Posts: 94
Words: 64397
Joined roleplay: March 4th, 2016, 12:27 pm
Location: Ravok
Race: Human
Character sheet
Storyteller secrets
Plotnotes

A Hand of Welcome

Postby Baran on April 30th, 2017, 3:54 pm

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"Speech"
Half a bell since the sixth had chimed, Baran finally began to put away his instrument and put on his boots to leave the boarding house. The gamba was not slung over his back, like it normally was, but locked safely in his room. Baran was well-aware that he would be doing a fair amount of exploring, and for that he would need all the freedom that he could get. Despite his love of the gamba, he knew the instrument was bulky, and so it was left behind.

Still, it felt incredibly odd to be leaving it behind, and a number of times he felt the air behind his back to see it it was there or not, being so unused to not wearing it there. The boarding house door squeaked as he shut it behind him, and soon enough he was walking along a small alleyway that lead to one of the many bridges he'd seen. It was the same one the traders had walked along before, an elegant affair of spiralled wood carved with miniature birds. Baran was searching, however, for a ravosalaman. That was his best bet of finding anything he was looking for in this maze of a city.

He walked until he found a waterfront where a boat lay, unaccompanied. Nearby, a ravosalaman stood smoking a long pipe, puffing smoke into the morning air as the light of Syna rose and spread across the lake. Baran waited a few chimes for the man to finish his break, unwilling to disturb the man who clearly needed the smoke. However, when he finally walked back to the ravosala, he strode over and deposited the fare into the man's hand, before climbing into the long vessel and sitting down gingerly.

"Where are y'off to?" The man squinted as the sunlight glinted off the water into his face. Baran considered the question for a moment, wondering which would be best first. Clothes, wash, or job? He decided: clothes.
"The nearest good market, if you please. I'm looking for a clothing emporium, if there is such a place." Then they were off, the boat gliding smoothly through the water as Baran sat back and watched the world go by.

There was much to see, as most of the houses and buildings and businesses seemed to be beautiful and elegant. The boat was winding it's way through more traffic now though, as the city began to wake up fully, and then suddenly the ravosalaman spoke up with a light drawl in his voice. "So, are y'shopping for anything else? My wife Cleara runs a bread stall at the People's Market. That's close by to where I'm a'takin' you. It's good stuff, that bread, hearty." He nodded and then concentrated on the path again.

"No, clothes. Then somewhere to wash. I'm new to the city, I arrived yesterday in fact." The ravosalaman raised an eyebrow and continued, but said nothing more. Baran cursed himself inwardly, perhaps he should not have said so freely he was new to the city. He recalled some of the rowdy behaviour at the registration office the day before- that had been aimed at newcomers, now that he thought back on it.

New clothes would surely give him an air of a Ravokian though, and so he disembarked with happiness when the ravosalaman finally arrived.
"For baths, you'll want Black Waters. That's in the Noble District." Then the ravosalaman welcomed a new customer on board, and Baran was left to his own devices.
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.
User avatar
Baran
"If you steal my gamba, I will gut you."
 
Posts: 94
Words: 64397
Joined roleplay: March 4th, 2016, 12:27 pm
Location: Ravok
Race: Human
Character sheet
Storyteller secrets
Plotnotes


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