@arathina: elias playing a cute little tune on his rebab for radagon while they rest at a fire
𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐦𝐮𝐬𝐢𝐜 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐞. Notes plucked from an instrument he recognizes not. Yet ‘tis a sound that gives him pause, eyes drifting shut to envision what the piece ( if it could really in truth, be called such ) is meant to convey. Something… whimsical, he decides, and sees lush green fields, sunlight and flowers. Mere wisps tenuous as wood smoke, slipping through his desperate attempts to grasp the moment and keep it with him. For he is certain there should have been others — a family lost.
He exhales, eyes snapping open to find himself once more in his dismal surroundings. The far edges of Liurnia having become more swamp than aught else. Less the grand lakes that he’d walked side by side with his wife and children and a buzzing nest of voracious insects and deadly creatures. It makes him wonder just why his present companion would set up camp in the midst of so dangerous a locale.
The music stops when he enters the ring of orange firelight, a brief but sour look cast to the flames ere he settles stiffly to the rock he’d claimed as his since joining with the merchant. Elias, as he’d called himself, such a frail thing composed more of long limbs and paranoia than aught else. The way he jumps at nigh every sound inspires another question of just how the scrawny youth has not died of a burst heart yet.
“‘Twill be rabbit,” he hefts a brace of hares, the fruits of his hunt. There is a gleam of hunger in the merchant’s rivalling that of the incessant mosquitos that surrounds them. Though such vile insects would find no meal from him and thus have they swarmed and made the merchant miserable in the interim. No other words are necessary as he sets about the work of dressing his catch and soon has them upon the spit, grease dripping from the meat and popping within the flames.
He doesn’t eat, but for the sake of pretense he makes the token effort to do so to allay suspicions. Elias seems none the wiser and even in the small time since they’ve come together began to breach the silence with his own chatter. He speaks of much and naught at all, but Radagon finds himself listening, curious when the youth makes mention of his travels, of the sights he has seen and of whispers of news he’s managed to procure. In exchange does Radagon provide the meals and his protection. He suspects the latter is the reason why Elias keeps him so near.
There is another question that has burns hot as a brand as his gaze falls once more to the instrument in the merchant’s hold. The first he’s heard it used though he’d seen it amongst the Elias’ wares, he’d only assumed it but another item that’d yet to be sold. For a certainty did Elias keep the oddest of trinkets to hawk.
“That instrument — ” An hour later he speaks again and Elias nigh chokes on his share of the hare. Radagon waits with waning patience as the youth dissolves into a coughing fit and wonders if he might need employ a healing incantation. But in a matter of time Elias manages to compose himself, an arm wrapping protectively around the instrument in question. “Will you play it again?”
Of all things since the fall of Leyndell, ‘tis the music that he finds himself wistful for the most. The bards that’d come to court, the troubadours and those hopeful to make a name for themselves amidst the golden city, he’d entertained them all. The sweetness of such music had brought a strange comfort to his soul and he would hear it again having been deprived for so long.
There’s an answering and eager smile from Elias as he quickly wolfs down the rest of his meal and licks his fingers clean ere he picks up his instrument. With a flourish, he soon settles to a song that sweeps Radagon away once more, thoughts carrying him to places of swirling of gold and light and of children laughing beneath the sun.
