But there was no real stage for Saraya to take, nor even the hint of a rising. The only place left to her in the whole of the tavern was the last unoccupied table. It certainly wasn’t what Saraya preferred, but she could easily make do. One table with a chair or two were tools enough to conduct her craft, though she wasn’t sure how Mathias would fair in the same space. Likely the bard didn’t require much in the way of room to perform, and so it was doubtful that he would complain of the arrangement. Even if he did, neither of them could change anything, nor would waste the effort attempting to. Besides, the comfort of their setting was the least pressing of Saraya’s concerns now that she’d received her benefactor’s aggravating, nearly useless letter. With its arrival, there were far more important things to consider, not least of which being how her own performance would unfold.
When Saraya reached the empty table she dropped her pack on top of it and quickly dug out a silver case, one etched with leaves and spiraling vines. Chugging the last bit of his mead, Mathias threw off his winter cloak and followed after her, leaving Fruuk to hang upon the back of his chair snug within the coat’s warm hood. The hurried motion caught the notice of several patrons, which came as no surprise. With the removal of his cloak, the merryman’s cape revealed beneath was the most breathtaking Saraya had ever seen. The gradient shades of blues and greens that she’d seen before looked every bit the image of an ocean wave even in how it moved, and as Mathias crossed the open floor it shimmered like water in the light.
Even Saraya, used to seeing a myriad of fanciful garments, was distracted by the glistening cloth. Too she noticed how the air, heavy with booze and hearth fire, had taken on a new hint of anticipation with the merryman’s appearance, and the jester found herself swallowing pangs of jealousy at how the room’s attention fell to Mathias instead of her. Painted hair and violet harlequin stripes could not compare to something as extravagant as Mathias’s unique choice of clothing, or so it seemed, and this left Saraya trying to console herself by saying that this was for the best. The less the patrons noticed her, after all, the more freely she could conduct her business in secret.
“I know, I know,” Saraya grumbled, looking back to the silver case she held. Muffling an angry sigh, she undid the latches, opened the lid, and began inspecting the two wooden halves of the ornate flute within. She was relieved to see that the multiple days atop Talon’s back had failed to jostle it, for she sometimes worried that the flute would come to harm during these lengthy transits. She wasn’t sure what she would do if ever the flute was broken, as it was an essential part of her ability to perform in the cramped confines of tavern spaces.
“Is that a Whinnari flute?!” Mathias exclaimed suddenly as he neared, having spied the instrument over her shoulder.
“It is,” Saraya answered him, pulling the two pieces from their case. Carefully she snapped them together, making sure that the lengths aligned. The flute’s carved surface became whole then, constructing an elegant, snake-like drake half submerged within a creek betwixt a floating bed of lilies. The drake’s tail coiled around the neck of the flute, with its head fashioned to serve as the flute’s mouth.
“Amazing!” Mathias beamed as he bent closer for a better look. “How ever did you come by it?”
Saraya chuckled slightly and ran a gentle finger over the flute’s intricate designs. “One of my teachers was a whinn,” she explained, “and she gifted me the flute. Whenever I was forced to practice, she sat by carving this one.”
“Is that so?” The bard began, and after stroking his chin he held out his hand. “May I?”
But Saraya hesitated and grasped the flute a little tighter. No one had ever asked for the flute before, and she didn’t truly want to give it. After a moment’s thought however, she supposed that Mathias would be unlikely to cause it harm, and so, begrudgingly, she passed it to him. Nervously she watched the minstrel as he took the instrument into hand, but to her relief he handled it even more delicately than she did.
“Such a remarkable piece!” He marveled, turning the flute over in the light to see every flower, mark and scale. “I have seen only three others, but never in the hands of an akiri.”
“I am not surprised,” Saraya said, taking back the flute. “My teacher is not like other whinn. She prefers the company of Human’kin to her fellow draken kindred. I am fortunate she favors humans so, as I’ve learned a lot from her.”
Mathias released a knowing sigh. “Whinn are too talented in all things, or so they say. A shame that more are not willing to teach. I can commend your teacher for doing so, at the least! It truly is a pity though…but I digress. At the Sides of Gods? That is what we chose?”
“Yes,” Saraya affirmed with a nod, “though as I said, I am not overly familiar with the song. But I will make sure to join in as soon as I can.”
“Very well,” Mathias chuckled as he softly cleared his throat, and before Saraya could ask why he laughed, the minstrel began to hum. For some small time he went on like this, properly warming his vocal cords as he tightened and tested the strings of his lute. Only once he was ready did his humming grow louder, and only then with the accompaniment of soft music.
Closely Saraya listened to the beat, trying hard to remember its tune so to join in as soon as she could. Tonight she needed to fill the entire tavern with mirth, more so than even Mathias likely realized. Real joy and gladness were not emotions someone could truly fake, and so spotting abnormalities within the crowd would be easier done within a place positively brimming with levity. Of course, this perfect circumstance wouldn’t come until later, when the crowd’s emotions had reached their peak. But having Mathias at her side would make a breeze of her own work, for the bard was instantly proving to possess a most enviable talent for subtlety.
The simple start of the minstrel’s song was shaping the room with great effect, and even those on the far end of the tavern were slowly noticing the gentle change. Though one couldn’t really make out the merryman’s humming over the other tavern noise, its rhythmic melody crept into the bottommost levels of the common room’s ambience just the same. It was enough to make the people realize that something different was coming, and soon most had their ears perked ready to listen. It would take a better eye than Saraya’s to fully understand what he had done, but she was nevertheless amazed by Mathias’s queer choice of tact. He hadn’t raised his voice at all, nor strummed anything complex, and yet he had turned the whole tavern into his stage with little effort. Certainly Saraya had captivated many audiences that were of this equal scale, but she had never handled it as well, or as easily, as Mathias was doing now. The effectiveness of his approach was more than just impressive, and once again the jester found herself jealous of the minstrel’s display of skill.
I must interrogate him about how he does it before I leave the city, Saraya thought as she lifted her flute to her lips, having finally recognized the melody as Mathias started into grander play.
The presence the bard had created for them within the tavern was monumental to say the least, and by the second verse, most within the tavern had joined up with Mathias in singing. Both voices and tankards were raised by the crowd, the whole assemblage bellowing out the anthem, and those who did not know the lyrics—or otherwise had terrible voices—kept beat by other means. Fists pounded upon tables and boots stomped on the floor, so much so that the lanterns hanging throughout the tavern shook upon their pegs. Secretly Saraya likened it to leading soldiers into battle, believing their patrons to possess much the same energy. She attributed this feeling, in part, to the sense of pride that had consumed the room and to the song they currently sang. At the Sides of Gods painted a beautiful picture of Cambria’s noble heritage, of a victorious battle fought alongside the Kayll during the Fall of the Fourth Age. Few were those among the crowd who were not in some way moved by the recounted tale, and when the song came to an end four verses later, the entire room was beaming. After just this singular song Saraya could sense the drastic shift of the tavern’s mood. When first arrived, these people had been tired, not just from their jobs, but weighed down by times of strife and uncertainty. But now there burned between them a deep camaraderie, as well as a renewed sense of hope, even if small.
And yet, it was not quite a feeling everybody fully shared. Even if she could not see them all from her place as Mathias’s side, Saraya could sense places within the crowd where the glowing mood had failed to reach. The room was not yet ready for her, it needed one last push, and at her own volition, Saraya began into their next chosen tune of Of Honor and Ale. Mathias’s voice no doubt requiring a small break, the jester played through a short intro to prepare the crowd for what was to come, and like a match to tinder the anticipation set the cheery common room ablaze. In much greater quantities now spirits and food were being passed around, and when the minstrel’s voice rang out again, inhibitions all but disappeared.
Of Honor and Ale was a comedy, one featuring a drunken soldier and a cunning trickster woman, while the song itself was naught but lyrics comprised of tongue twisters and rhymes. In mere moments after they’d begun the slurred voices of their patrons joined in with the singing, and grew so loud in their volume that they nearly drowned out poor Mathias. Of course, this did not stop the sprightly minstrel from carrying on the tune, and his voice melodically interlaced with a multitude of drunken others who were trying—and failing—to speak the words.
By the time the villainess of the song weighed gold against the soldier’s honor, a number of those who had attempted the lyrics had completely given up. And when the song reached its end, with the woman walking away with all the lad’s coin in hand, the entire inn shook with laughter at the foolish man’s expense. Mathias had truly outdone himself, for throughout each and every torturous rhyme he had not once missed a beat or stammered, and had very likely delivered one of the few perfect renditions of Of Honor and Ale that the crowd had ever heard. The tavern was truly alive now, the joy filled to brimming, and oh how easy it would have been to be swept up within the pace. But a quiet word from Alter kept Saraya’s focus steady.
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Alter wanted their work to begin, that’s what she was implying, a sentiment with which Saraya could agree. Thus, as the music reached its end, she pulled the flute from her lips, and as cheers went up for the song again, she slipped her flute away. “I need a better perch,” she muttered as she stood up from her seat. In truth, she hadn’t expected things to go this well this soon; for the tavern to take so strongly to the very beginning of their act. The people here must surely have been desperate for any form of entertainment, for Saraya believed that she could not only start her mission, but very well quickly complete it.
“Finished already?” Mathias began, surprised to see his companion so soon without her flute. “I thought we were to do three songs together at least!”
“You’re too good, Mathias,” Saraya told him honestly, giving the minstrel a playful shrug and a smile, “and I fear that if I don’t stop now, you’ll steal the entire show!” While speaking she got back into her bag, and pulling out a small leather pouch, she affixed it to her belt. “I think it’s time for me to do what I do best. Just play me a merry Wanderer’s tune and you’ll see my proper trade.”
Realizing her intent, Mathias answered with a laugh and soon began into their next chosen song. With a hop Saraya jumped up onto the empty table as he played, and once mounted, she pulled three balls out from her belt. Juggling was not her strongest suit, nor her favorite to perform, but she had learned several tricks from the masterful Chloe and too knew how effective such tricks were inside of inns.
Attention shifted to Saraya as soon as she rose up onto the table, and immediately she began into a simple cascade of spheres. The bright colors of red, blue and green rolled over each other in fluid motion, flowing from one hand to the next with a rhythmic arc between. At her feet, Mathias began into an upbeat Wanderer’s tune, one whose purpose was to coax its listeners into dance. It was the perfect backdrop to her act and with her motions she matched the rhythm, switching up her throws, tricks, movements and spins as she listened to Mathias sing. The two of them were the perfect duo; complimentary to each other in every way as though they’d practiced this before.
“Right…” the acrobat breathed to herself, putting her thoughts right again. With subtle glances across the tavern Saraya looked out over the room. Most in tonight’s attendance were of the sort she’d seen in every crowd, and there were few among their onlookers who caught her eye as odd. One such suspicious figure was sitting at a game of cards: a woman dressed in a layered gown who Saraya suspected was a swindler. There was also a green naviin about, with tunic pressed smooth and hair brushed slick. The table he was so confidently approaching held well-dressed tradesmen on each side, and everything about him said that he was trying to worm his way into their midst.
A table of Slayers was an enticing bunch, identifiable by the types of clothes they wore. While normal hunters and trappers wore the pelts and skins of common kills, Slayers wore armors of expensive scale plates, feathers, furs and spikes; protective gear that kept them safe while hunting Elequa’s largest, most dangerous quarry. They were some of the most tenacious people one could hope to meet, and were well respected for their service of quelling deadly beasts. The creatures slain were often used to create the armor the Slayer wore, and one could discern the best of them just by looking at their clothes and weapons.
A woman Slayer was among these here, and was the most decorated of the group. Certainly this would help to explain why she could so easily sit among them, for this woman was not a Cambrian, but a Crystarian like Saraya was. She possessed the lither figure of one, as well as the finer face, and flowing over a silver-fur mantle were long locks of blood-red hair. Such a color was only found in Crystaria’s Caedis province, so that she was here, and mingling so well, was itself a great surprise. The woman had an authoritative air as well, something Saraya sensed more so than saw, and it was clear that those sitting around her treated the woman with both kinship and respect.
These Slayers were so caught up in their game of drinking however, that Saraya couldn’t rightly decide if anyone there was a threat or not, and so she turned her attention to a gambling street urchin instead. She watched him leave, completely dismayed after having lost all his coin to dice, then spied the barmaid who had served her supper slip a kiss onto the cheek of a blushing naviin boy. There were so many things the acrobat could see from high upon her stage, but none of them seemed right, and she hadn’t the chance to study more as Mathias’s song came to an end. Casually catching her juggling balls, both acrobat and minstrel took a bow, and a hearty round of thunderous applause was lauded at them both. A request for Of Honor and Ale again came out from the jolly patrons, as too did the desire that Saraya continue on with her tricks. For a moment the two performers glanced to each other and both agreed that they could go on, especially since Saraya could use more time to correctly discern her target. A change of pace was in order though, if she wished to draw them out, for the stronger the audience’s reactions were, the more the anomalies would appear.
“Trust me,” Saraya whispered smugly. “I know better than you how to appease our audience. If our target is truly here, they will not be able to hide from this.” Saraya then slipped her juggling balls away, much to the disappointment of her crowd, but their objections were abruptly silenced when she hoisted the first chair up onto the table. Confused whispers rippled through the crowd anew when she pulled up the second chair, and turning it upside down, she stacked it carefully on the other. Nimbly then, Saraya climbed up onto the treacherous tower and stood gingerly on the rungs between the legs, pulling out her colored balls again and setting them into motion.
Mathias too started once more, coaxing the crowd to join him, but though some did, others kept their eyes trained upon the acrobat. The tension of the crowd was apparent, just like the precariousness of her perch, and less sang now for the simple fear that their loud voices would knock her over. Thus when Saraya whipped one ball up behind her back to catch it once again within the juggle, some of her audience flinched, thinking she would fall. She did it again, more confidently now, then juggled three balls within one hand, before throwing each into the air and turning about in a quick, jumping spin. A full rotation and her feet found their footing upon the chair’s upturned rungs once more, the wood beneath her making a squeal as the chairs slid under her weight. Having to crouch, Saraya caught the balls as they fell back down to her one by one, and those who had been holding their breath found their voices as they cheered.
The display of such prowess earned the jester a healthy amount of applause, and Saraya smiled as she started into juggling again. With so many eyes upon her now, she glanced from one patron to the next, studying each and every emotion and absorbing every face. By now, even those once involved in their own interests had come to look her way. She was the highlight of the tavern, the one everyone wanted to see, and no booze or game or conversation could distract from her performance. Enthralled as the tavern was by her acrobatic skill, they had given her all she needed, and in a very short time before their collective gazes she finally found her prey.
Loud guffaws went up from the table where her target sat, as one of the patrons sitting there drunkenly toppled from his chair. It was a Slayer from the group before, and not the only one of his party to fall victim to the alcohol tonight. Two others nearby were already unconscious, slumped over within their chairs, and not a single one of them had less than ten empty tankards afore their sitting space. Too busy laughing at their friend’s expense, the Slayer’s kinsmen left him on the floor, and the barmaids that were walking by unflinchingly stepped around him.
“Another one down!” The red-haired woman from before yelled triumphantly, standing with a foot hiked up on her chair. “Which of you still thinks to beat me?” Two of her fellows rose to her goading as she confidently downed her remaining ale, slamming the emptied mug down next to a plethora of empty others. The woman then ordered another round for those at her table who were still awake to drink, and then sat down once again, smirking during the wait.
For all the same reasons as before, Saraya had been watching this table closest. If she tried, she could easily reason away all of the woman’s obvious oddities, but nothing could rightfully explain just why the woman had, for all this time, been so adamantly looking away. The acrobat’s act had reached its grandest form, and yet the woman barely noticed. It wasn’t just Saraya’s pride that had drawn her to the table, for when studying the woman a while longer, she had slowly begun to recognize a façade that was not unlike her own; a mask that hid an ulterior motive that neither wanted shared. Among the group of Slayers it was only the woman whose attention wasn’t gained, and yet, despite the woman’s dismissive disposition, Saraya didn’t feel at all ignored.
“Agreed,” Saraya answered quietly, and juggling the three balls in a single hand again, she fished a fourth one from her belt. Saraya’s talent with juggling four was not nearly as refined as using three, but it didn’t matter as long as she could use the tricks as an excuse to test her theory.
With a bright pink ball rolling around now from one hand to the next, she set the four balls to bubble up in the middle, each rising up inside the center to be caught again on the outside edges. She switched up the throws then, proceeding along with the act as though everything was normal, and waited for the proper time to implement her plan.
When suddenly she tossed a ball to the red-haired Slayer, no one suspected anything suspicious, and just as Saraya had predicted, the woman caught it without a hitch. Indeed, the threatening glare that came as a result doused all remainder of Saraya’s doubts, for with the use of the unexpected ploy, the jovial temper the woman had prior left her with a snap. What remained was nothing less than a hardened hunter seeking prey, and Saraya’s smile nearly broke when faced with such a threatening stare. It was only her experience of the stage that kept her from breaking character, and reinforcing her jester’s smile, she carried on with the routine.
“Well caught!” Saraya quickly adlibbed, regurgitating the proper words. “Now, if you would please throw it back?”
As though she had noticed her own shift of face, the woman Slayer’s expression eased, and trying to return to how things were she tossed back the juggling ball. Saraya nodded her thanks to the woman and buried deep that flash of fear. Now that she had found whom her patron was after, it high time for her to leave. The ball was certainly sign enough for the masked man to know who hunted him, and as she had successfully done what she’d set out to do, she needed only now to get away.
In one last trick, Saraya caught her juggling balls and then flipped down from the chairs, landing on the floor with a graceful crouch before rising up with a bow. With a gracious smile she accepted the flurry of grand applause that broke out from the crowd. Several of those around the common room even gave out a happy holler, and to her surprise, after all this time, they still wanted the acrobat to do more. Concocting some reasonable excuse to say that she could not, with that she signaled to the crowd the end of tonight’s show. Mathias collapsed within his chair as soon as she declared it, obviously most relieved to finally be giving his voice a decent rest.
With her performance done, Saraya did her best to slip away before risking the crowd’s approach, though did not leave the common room before thanking Mathias for his help. There was little doubt that some grateful patrons would buy the minstrel a drink or three, but Saraya had no interest in such reception and only wanted to go. Adeptly she snuck through the crowd without much hassle, getting stopped only twice by gifts of thanks, and made good her escape upstairs before being wholly waylaid. She couldn’t bother with distractions now; her job was still not done. Soon enough the masked man would come to meet with her, if not the Slayer woman as some point, and now it was time for her to prepare for whichever one came first.