Plucked Strings (open)
WHO: Stefen, Aya, and anyone else who cares to listen
WHAT: The newly arrived Bard does what he's best at.
WHERE: The Docks
WHEN: Afternoon/evening (what day is it? I'm still confused...)
Stefen put away the quill, closed the enchanted journal, and tucked it back in his belt, where he had originally found it. Large hazel eyes cast around uncertainly for a moment before settling on an out-of-the-way spot near where the wooden surface of the docks transitioned into the stone paving of the city. A thick post was positioned there, and he went to it, lifting the gittern case from his shoulder before sinking into a sitting position with his back against the pole.
His mind was still whirling from what the mage named Zexion had told him. Oh, he was accustomed to magic. How could he not be? His best friend and lover was an incredibly powerful Herald-mage, after all.
Was. Had been.
His unexpected arrival in Rivelata may have been distracting, but there was no way to ignore the emptiness for long. Vanyel, Stefen's Lifebonded, was gone. By all rights, Stefan should have gone with him. And he had planned to, as soon as he finished the ballad that told their story...
He winced, realizing how his train of thought had been completely drawn off course by the thought of Van, as always.
Yes, he was used to magic, even if he did not understand the intricate workings of it himself. But what Zexion had described... other worlds? Alternate realities? Subjects that had barely if ever been touched upon in Valdemar, and certainly nothing Stefen would have expected to be dragged into himself.
The Bard sighed, brushing a lock of wavy auburn hair away from his face and removing his musical instrument from its case. He held the familiar old gittern with the care one would hold an infant as he tried to relax, letting his fingers fall into the basic exercises that every Bard performed every day of their life. He corrected the tautness of the strings as he went, rather surprised that they had not been knocked very far out of tune by the boat ride. When that was finished, the notes continued unfaltering as he branched out into more complex patterns, most of them made up on the spot.
He pushed away the confusion, the uncertainty. He could not push away the sorrow, but he tried, and his song was not a sad one.
(ooc edit: just rereading bits of Magic's Price to ensure I have his mannerisms down well enough, and what do I realize? That I can keep up with the most intricate and twisted plots, but do I pay attention to tiny details like the exact spelling of a simple name? Why, not at all! Does it matter that I've read the book five bloody times? Of course not! Do I notice even when I lazily copy and paste the song lyrics instead of typing them up from memory? Havens, no!
Ahem. Stefen. Not Stefan. StefenStefenStefenStefenStefen. Right, I think I've got it now. In my defense, the nickname "Stef" is used far more often...)
WHAT: The newly arrived Bard does what he's best at.
WHERE: The Docks
WHEN: Afternoon/evening (what day is it? I'm still confused...)
Stefen put away the quill, closed the enchanted journal, and tucked it back in his belt, where he had originally found it. Large hazel eyes cast around uncertainly for a moment before settling on an out-of-the-way spot near where the wooden surface of the docks transitioned into the stone paving of the city. A thick post was positioned there, and he went to it, lifting the gittern case from his shoulder before sinking into a sitting position with his back against the pole.
His mind was still whirling from what the mage named Zexion had told him. Oh, he was accustomed to magic. How could he not be? His best friend and lover was an incredibly powerful Herald-mage, after all.
Was. Had been.
His unexpected arrival in Rivelata may have been distracting, but there was no way to ignore the emptiness for long. Vanyel, Stefen's Lifebonded, was gone. By all rights, Stefan should have gone with him. And he had planned to, as soon as he finished the ballad that told their story...
He winced, realizing how his train of thought had been completely drawn off course by the thought of Van, as always.
Yes, he was used to magic, even if he did not understand the intricate workings of it himself. But what Zexion had described... other worlds? Alternate realities? Subjects that had barely if ever been touched upon in Valdemar, and certainly nothing Stefen would have expected to be dragged into himself.
The Bard sighed, brushing a lock of wavy auburn hair away from his face and removing his musical instrument from its case. He held the familiar old gittern with the care one would hold an infant as he tried to relax, letting his fingers fall into the basic exercises that every Bard performed every day of their life. He corrected the tautness of the strings as he went, rather surprised that they had not been knocked very far out of tune by the boat ride. When that was finished, the notes continued unfaltering as he branched out into more complex patterns, most of them made up on the spot.
He pushed away the confusion, the uncertainty. He could not push away the sorrow, but he tried, and his song was not a sad one.
(ooc edit: just rereading bits of Magic's Price to ensure I have his mannerisms down well enough, and what do I realize? That I can keep up with the most intricate and twisted plots, but do I pay attention to tiny details like the exact spelling of a simple name? Why, not at all! Does it matter that I've read the book five bloody times? Of course not! Do I notice even when I lazily copy and paste the song lyrics instead of typing them up from memory? Havens, no!
Ahem. Stefen. Not Stefan. StefenStefenStefenStefenStefen. Right, I think I've got it now. In my defense, the nickname "Stef" is used far more often...)