“The value of an item can differ greatly from individual to individual. What one man considers as trash might well be treasure for another.” - Old folk saying.
“Patriarch, Satrapi El-Ilauni came to visit. She is presently in the main waiting room,” said a bowing servant when the patriarch led Aideen and the rest back to the main house after their visit to the glass workshop.
The title was one that all of them were familiar with, a minor noble title in the Caliphate, one typically given to people who had achieved certain feats worth celebrating, rather than people who were born to the title. It was a personal title rather than a familial one, the sort that would not go to one’s offspring, and its recipients came from all walks of life.
“Ah, right, we have been expecting her arrival for a while. Please ensure that the Satrapi is comfortable and inform Mistress Balezouf of the Satrapi’s arrival, if you please. Also send someone to tell the Satrapi that we will be with her shortly,” said the patriarch to the servant.
“Your will be done, patriarch,” replied the man with another bow as he departed.
“Should we be there?” asked Aideen once the servant left. “We wouldn’t want to intrude.”
“Oh, posh, you all are my honored guests, and besides, I wanted to introduce you to Mistress Balezouf anyway. This is as good an opportunity as any,” replied the patriarch nonchalantly. “The Satrapi also wouldn’t mind, I believe, since if the tales don’t lie, Milady is a pretty skilled bard yourself, are you not? The Satrapi received her title thanks to her music, so she is always eager to make the acquaintance of other fellow bards.”
“I see, lead on, then.”
The patriarch led them to the same waiting room Aideen and the others had been brought to when they first visited the house. There they saw a middle-aged female dwarf – noticeable from the way she styled her hair and beard into three long braids each, which only females do in the Caliphate – already making herself comfortable while drinking some tea. Unlike the typical dwarf who usually had burly hands full of calluses from centuries of hard work, this dwarf had slim, almost dainty fingers that looked smooth and flawless to the eye.
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“Greeting, patriarch,” said the dwarven woman as she waved her hand to the group. Her voice had a peculiar melodic, sing-song note to it, despite still being very low like all dwarven voices. Aideen could definitely see the dwarven woman being a famous bard with that kind of voice. “I see you have other guests? Pardon my untimely intrusion, then.”
“Nonsense, Satrapi,” replied the patriarch with the same wide grin on his face. “We are always pleased to welcome you in our humble abode. Mistress Balezouf has already been notified of your arrival and should be on her way here soon.”
Just as the patriarch and Aideen’s group seated themselves across the table from the Satrapi, another female dwarf entered the room and smiled widely upon seeing the other dwarven woman.
“Hawwa! So good to see you again, old friend!” declared the newcomer as she opened her arms wide and walked over to engulf the Satrapi in a friendly hug, which was returned in full measure. “You came at just the right time, too!”
“Long time no see, Shadi,” replied Satrapi Hawwa El-Ilauni as she returned the embrace of her good friend. “You know how it is with us bards, always on the move, rarely coming back home. I just returned from the north so I thought I should pay you another visit since it’s been a while.”
“Your timing is to be praised. I just finished something I’m certain you will really like,” said the artisan glassmaker as she sat next to her friend. Mistress Shadi Balezouf was rather pale – probably because she spent most of her time indoors – but with a toasted look to her skin which might be due to how she worked with molten glass all the time.
She was also rather uncharacteristically slender for a dwarf, though still with very well toned muscles, and kept both her hair and beard in a rather short cut that made them look rather like the fuzz on the skin of a fresh peach.
“Here, Hawwa, take a look at this, for you,” she said as she brought out a wrapped package about as broad as a human’s torso from her storage artifact and carefully placed it on the table. The other woman looked questioningly at the package before she carefully untied the ropes that held the package shut and unwrapped it carefully.
A sharp intake of breath came from nearly everyone in the room the moment the Satrapi fully unveiled the contents of the package.
Inside the package was some sort of string instrument with a trapezoidal shape, with twenty-five courses of string stretched over its surface, each course holding three strings next to each other. The entire instrument was made out of glass with the characteristic greenish tint that the region’s glasswork was famous for, made to look as if it was made out of crystal, with each facet inside the instrument depicting a scene, no two facets the same. The strings themselves were nearly translucent, and if viewed from the right angle, looked almost as if they did not exist at all.
“I made this with a special formula of mine. The glass should be nearly as durable as steel, so you won’t have to worry about accidentally dropping it,” said Mistress Balezouf with a chuckle, clearly amused at her old friend’s poleaxed expression. “I’m quite confident that the timbre and tone it produces should be acceptable, but you’re the musician here, so you’ll have to test it for yourself and see if any adjustments need to be made.”
The Satrapi looked dumbfounded for a while more before she finally collected herself. The woman then shifted her seating a short distance back from the table and placed the instrument on her lap, taking a deep breath before she carefully brushed the strings with her fingers.
A clear, ringing sound emanated from the instrument, one with a particularly crisp note to its timbre.