The crew of thugs continues to chuckle and eat and drink, with the ringleader paying the party no more mind, or at least giving the impression that he is paying them no mind. The sound of rain pattering against the wooden shutters and the roof, a constant reminder of the state of the weather here on the island of Chillhame; while the smell of fish, cooked lamb, and thick bread fills the noses of the party.
The food arrives, and is warm and tasty, not excellent, but definitely good cooked food as opposed to trail rations. Over the fireplace sits an old shield with two rusted blades crossing it; the clientele look to be mostly peasants, unarmed with a mug of penny ale in their grimy hands. The inn has the typical blend of human body odor, burning wood, and pipe smoke.
The door opens slowly as another traveler enters the inn. The clientele pause as a hooded and cloaked traveler steps into the inn out of the rain. His cloak though looks dry to the touch, and very little water seems to drip from it as he strides to a chair near the fire and takes an empty seat. In the flickering fire light, soft red eyes peer out from underneath the darkened hood. But perhaps that was just a trick of light and shadow…
The inn stays in silence for a half a heartbeat before the conversation begins in hushed tones and the old minstrel strokes his beard before playing his fiddle. The stranger draws out what looks to be a mandolin made of a black wood, of exquisite detail; the strings shimmer in the flickering light as ebon black hands begin to test the strings of the instrument.
A soft melodious sound filters into the tavern fighting with the hushed whispers and the garish whiny music of the old minstrel. The sound is subtle at first but grows as the hush grows and even the minstrel pauses to look once more at the stranger. The hooded musician lost in the growing slow rhythm of the music he was creating.
A soft angelic voice flows from the minstrel, a saddened dirge flowing into the inn like a surging wave. His voice grows, “What if everything around you isn’t quite as it seems; what if all the world you think you know is an elaborate dream…”
“And if you looked at your reflection, is that all you want to be; what if you could you look right through the crack, would you find yourself; find yourself able to see…” his fingers dancing smoothly over the strings. His voice continues, “What if all the worlds inside of your head, just creations of your own; the devils and your gods and the living and the dead; and you really are alone…”
“You can live in live in the solution; you can choose to believe. You keep looking but you can’t find the walls, are you hiding in the trees? What if everything around you isn’t quite as it seems; what if all the world you used to know is an elaborate dream… and if you look at your reflection is that all you want to be...”
He pulls his head back, the hood falling back to reveal white curly hair framing an ebon face, with soft reddish eyes and face that mixes the best of both human and elfin traits; handsome yet solemn.
He finishes, “What if you could look right through the cracks, would you find yourself, afraid to see…” his voice diminishing as he finishes. Many faces are stunned as the musician looks up at the silence as he finishes playing his song… not realizing all eyes are on him.
He quickly pulls his hood up and sets the instrument aside against his chair…
Performance check of 32 for those that care…
