Spellsinger's Tale

[Guest]

The sun beamed down through the treetops onto the suntanned body of Haydn Greensleeve and a breeze whispered it's way through the trees. He hoped to the gods that it didn't carry his scent to the deer he had been stalking for the last two hours and his hopes were answered. He had managed to wound it and give it a very good limp, but still it had managed to elude him by sheer luck. He had spent the vast majority of his arrows, but he was feeling lucky as he notched that arrow and sent it flying. The arrow struck true and the beast feel down to the ground and breathed it's last. He smiled to himself and walked over to where it was, retrieving his arrow and hoisting the creature over it's head with his corded arms.

He was wearing a simple brown tunic and his leather leggings, and the walk to his home village, Ashvale, was a simple, relaxing one. As he came into sight of the huts he smiled at the village he loved and the villagers who had became his family. He sat down in his front yard with the corpse and started dressing it with his hunting knife, separating the meat he would need from what he would sell to the butcher, and preserved as much hide as he could so he could sell it in the nearby town. His blue eyes surveyed the corpse, and looked up to the villagers, going about their daily tasks. He saw Malakai wandering around as usual, and Cassandra and Nel standing by the fountain. Come to think of it there was quite a crowd there, and he wondered why.

He put the meat up to dry out into jerky and stretched the skin out on his wall, then walked over to the crowd, seeing an old man sitting on a log and talking loudly. He was telling the story of the Spellsingers, which gave him a twinge of disappointment, especially at the mention of the Arpeggio Knights, and sat down near the edge of the crowd to listen to the man, his legs crossed and his eyes locked on the old man, something didn't quite seem right with him, but he banished it from his head and rested his chin on his hands, his handsome face directed towards the storyteller and his ears enraptured by the tale.

[Koi in the River]

Nel had decidedly been having a rather uneventful day, as always... Well, except for the back-breaking work she had been doing previously: turning the dirt in the field, seeing to it that the horses had gotten enough exercise for the day, plucking a quantity of crops - rather heavy bundles of corn at that - refilling the trough, running back into town for the proper ingredients to serve with aforementioned corn for dinner, and everything in-between that. Of course, she figured she had done a rather poor job on more than half of those tasks. However she was in a hurry that day. The young woman was determined to have at least two hours to herself after all of the chores were done. At least two.

Subsequently, she had made it into town without much of a problem. Woven basket gripped tightly in her aching hands, she managed to buy a bit of beef and carrots without much issue, but she wasn't even sure those would make a decent meal mixed together in a soup with corn. In fact, the thought disgusted her, but her parents would have liked something like that, she figured. Nel visibly sneered as she continued to lull over the idea as she walked, though soon found herself with a dilemma. Did she even know how to cook any of that? Of course she knew how to cook, but it didn't usually consist of soups.

Finally shaking the worries from her head as she came to stop at the fountain in town, Nel looked up at the sky to gauge what time it was. It couldn't have been too late in the day. At least, she told herself it couldn't have been. She had a little time to stop and enjoy the outdoors before she had to make that long walk back to her own house, which unfortunately for her, was at least a mile down a dirt path into the outlying fields. However, after a few moments of standing, Nel noticed a crowd had been forming, all directed towards one figure speaking - telling a story. It sounded a bit familiar for whatever reason she couldn't remember, but she soon found herself drawn in with the tale.

It was most certainly better than walking down an old path for at least forty-five minutes to return home and simply have to get back to work again, as her mother was usually never done with the house-chores that early. No, Nel decided she deserved this time to enjoy herself. She had half a mind to storm back home and tell her family to cook dinner for themselves that night. Either way, the young woman was drawn from her thoughts again from the story being told, rubbing her shoulders tiredly as she stood, refraining from sitting down in fear of falling asleep in the small moment of rest.

[The Literate Angel]

Cassandra sat up in her large, four-poster bed, the sun was shining in through her window and it had woken her. It was a nice morning from the looks of it and a small smile came on her face. She rose from her bed and went over to her armoire and opened the doors. A few lovely gowns hung from the hangers and she pulled down a simple white one, her favorite to wear when she was planning on heading into town.

Cassandra stripped herself of her nightgown and replaced it with a simple white gown. It had lacing on the back, but other than that it simply slipped on. She opened a drawer of ribbons and pulled out one of the many gold ones. It was another simple one, but it was still beautiful in its simplicity.

As she was getting ready her maid came in with her breakfast. She set it next to her bed then walked over to Cassandra to help her brush out her hair. Cassandra smiled at her and sat in front of her vanity while she brushed out her golden locks.

"Thank you for helping me every morning Laura."

The maid smiled fondly at her mistress before replying.

"'Tis nothing ma'am. Would you like to put on any make-up before heading out today?"

Cassandra shook her head slightly and her maid nodded and set the brush down. Cassandra stood up and hugged her maid before going over to the table her breakfast sat at. She ate quickly and not very much. Cassandra grabbed a worn out book from her bedside table before leaving the room and heading down stairs.

As she ascended she happened to meet her mother who was just returning to her room or the library from her breakfast. A cold look was what met her, but she smiled and curtsied politely.

"Good morning, mother."

Her mother turned her head from her and continued up the stairs. Cassandra just smiled and then turned and left the house. It truly was a beautiful morning, the sun was high in the sky by that time and a warm breeze blew over the land. It was a short walk into town and one she loved. She greeted a few of the locals as she went.

When in town she talked shortly with some of the vendors who where out selling their wares, though she refrained from buying anything. She would probably get something before she left, but she didn't want to carry anything around. She was just happy socializing with the people of the village of Ashvale and she was going to sit and read her book in front of the fountain.

As she was heading there though she noticed a small crowd had gathered. She tilted her head slightly, her sapphire eyes filled with curiosity. As she walked over she could hear an old man and as she got closer she could see him. He was telling the famous tale of the Spellsingers and a warm smile came across her lips. She loved to listen to the tale. It was like stepping into another world even though the Arpeggio Knights could still do what those in the tale could.

Cassandra dropped in two gold coins into his hat as he wove the tale. She listened, enraptured by the story, her mind floating off to times past and a world of mystery and magic. Where dragons ruled the mighty sky and songs of peace filled the air. Also the darker times, where evil took root and made its way into the hearts of those filled with magic. By the time the old man had finished his tale though, Cassandra had a smile on her lips and her eyes sparkled with wonder.

[Guest]

“Aruxia…Awaken.”

The voice that spoke was softer than the sound of the rushing water above. Bright blue eyes fluttered open and blue wings stretched out to their full span. A white and blue blur shot up and the water splashed as the small figure broke the surface. A tan hand came up to block the sun from the blue eyes and she smiled softly at the world around her. It seemed things had changed since she was last awake. Her blue butterfly-like wings fluttered behind her as she shot forward in the air, finding herself flying towards the large weeping willow that stood tall next to the rushing river.

After a moment of flitting around, the small fae found what she was looking for. “At least these were still here.” She giggled and slung the quiver over her shoulder. A strong wind blew and she was pushed back high into the air as her wings caught the breeze. Looking out over the world, she could see a village nearby. Maybe that was where she needed to go? Probably. Mother had yet to tell her why she was awakened, but Aruxia knew she would find out sooner or later.

Her wings carried her into the village and a few small gasps were heard as she flew by people in a blue and white blur. Her hair whipped behind her and the fae soon found herself near a group of people listening to an older human male speak of Spellsingers. Aruxia knew of the Spellsingers, but it had been so long since she was last awake. What had happened to them? Her little nose wrinkled and she found herself floating by one male. He was wearing a brown tunic and for a human, seemed rather attractive. Unsure of how the human would react, Aruxia sat down on his shoulder. Her wings fluttered in his ear and she rested her hand on her palm like he was.

She didn’t speak a word to the human. All the female did was sit lightly on his shoulder and wait for him to notice her there. Her blue eyes were on the man who continued to weave a tale like he was speaking with magic. Aruxia found herself lost in the tale and she jumped as the old man came to a part where he leaped up from his seat. If it hadn’t been for her wings fluttering as she jumped, she would haves surely taken a tumble down the male’s shoulder and be laying on her back right then. Aruxia mumbled and fixed her outfit as she continued to listen until the man quit weaving his story.

[NotAliceInHerWonderland]

Savannah rubbed her eyes. Why couldn’t things ever be simple? All she’d been planning to do was take a simple walk through the woods to clear her head, before going to the town to collect the weeks shopping. She was already upset after her argument with Mr Grant. How dare he threaten to take away what was rightfully hers! Her hand drifted subconsciously to the slight bulge in her pocket as she continued on out of the woods and along the path to town.

Savannah stopped next to the fruit and veg stall and looked out around. There seemed to be a crowd gathering near the fountain, which was odd. She hadn’t heard of any meetings or shows happening today, and it wasn’t a piece of gossip she would have missed.

“Can I help you miss?” Savannah looked sharply at the man behind the stall. He seemed to be wearing rags and in desperate need of a shave. He shrank back slightly when her eyes locked on his.

“Yes. You can tell me what’s happening over by the fountain.” She kept her gaze on his. A cold, unblinking gaze letting him know that she wanted information, and information only.

“It’s some story teller over there miss. I’ve not been over but he’s got himself quite a crowd.” It wasn’t like it took a genius to see that this ‘story teller’ was clearly quite the attraction. He chosen a good day to go there as the weather was the best it had been in weeks. At least the rain had stopped Savannah though. The last few weeks had seen endless amounts of showers and cloudy spells, and finally the sun had broke free from the prison that the clouds had kept around it. She breathed in deeply through her nose, taking in the sweet smell of the drying grass and the feint smell of strawberry in the air.

“Thanks.”

She walked away from the stall and left the man stuttering away about some sort of nonsense behind her. As she got closer to the group a few words started reaching her ears. Spellsingers? He was telling the story of the Spellsingers? She couldn’t understand why someone repeating that old tale would cause such a crowd, as it was a tale that everyone in the towns around her knew only too well. It was a bedtime story used by many mothers to lull their children to sleep. It was one of those stories that were drilled into you as a child and you never forgot.

Savannah weaved her way along the back of the ever growing crowd and stopped when she had a good view of the speaker. She decided she could spare a few minutes of her time until she continued on with her shopping.

[Kathryn Lacey]

Zamira Besnik was well liked among the patrons of the Inn and Out Tavern. The young woman wasn’t one for shyness despite her kind nature, but she had a wit that could match many of the men’s. Her humor was much like her mother’s, and Mimosa Besnik was also appreciated among the customers, for she was the hostess of the place alongside the host and her husband, Liridon.

Despite the fact that they were from another country entirely, people had stopped showing any ill favor toward the trio since Zamira was five years of age. That was a very bad year for them. They had been in the village for a little over four years, and many were still uncomfortable with having foreigners within the boundaries of their village, let alone the fact that they had set themselves right in the midst of it all. An attack by a group of four, drunken men had nearly cost the young child the sight in her left eye. Liridon had lost the top two knuckles of his right ring finger, and he had almost lost his pinkie finger, but that had been saved. Mimosa was lucky enough that the wound on her upper left arm had healed so well that the scar was nearly undetectable. Those four men had been placed in prison, and the family had never suffered any more attacks, nor would a stranger stoop to harming them once they saw what the family could do with a pair of jutte.

Of course, it did help them that they had brought travelers of all stations into the small village, making it more prosperous than it had been in decades. They also boasted some of the best cooked meals and some of the best mead of anywhere else within fifty miles. Word of mouth also helped their reputation grow positively.

For the last decade, the villagers had become good friends with the respectable Besniks for the most part, and their daughter had grown into womanhood very well. She was not snobbish as many pretty women are wont to be, but she was pleasant and knew how to take a jest as well as dole one to another. Her pastime had also been one that had amused patrons for the last few years, too.

Zamira loved to carve, and she loved to entertain. This had brought her to carving marionettes. Her mother taught her how to sew the clothing for them, and her father had taught her to paint them. The lovely brunette had wasted no time creating a stage in which they would perform like real people with strings running from their limbs to the wooden crosses which would enable her to control their movements.

She was carving one such puppet on the porch of the Inn and Out Tavern when she noticed the crowd gathering around the fountain. That was one of her favorite places to be. It was so beautiful, and when it was sunny, the water glittered as if jewels twinkled beneath the surface. She stopped carving, sheathing the little knife in its designated leather before standing and walking down the wooden steps and toward the fountain. She had always had a curiosity to learn about things of which she knew very little- or even to learn more about things of which she felt she knew much.

Zamira clutched the block of wood which already had two indents and one protrusion which would serve as the eyes and the nose of the marionette, and she also held her sheathed carving knife in her hands as she neared the growing group. The skirts of her simple, off-white chemise rustled around her legs, overlapped by a simple, dark green bodice and a tan skirt. The sleeves of her chemise clung to the sides of her arms, revealing her elegant, lightly tanned shoulders where her dark brown curls didn’t cover them. Her dark chocolate eyes scanned looked around until she found the source of everyone’s interest.

An elderly man who seemed to be a very good storyteller was speaking about a myth. This story wasn’t one that was new to her, but she had only heard it from the other children. Her own parents had a different set of deities with different myths, so she grew up hearing of those from them. Though she heard different legends, there was one that was similar to this story despite the obvious differences in names and creatures.

However, the more the old man spoke, the more interested Zamira became. She wasn’t truly aware of any of the other people around her. Instead, she listened intently, watching the changes in the old man’s face and movements with each passing sentence. She began to gather ideas from this tale for a possible play her marionettes could enact.

When at last he had completed his story, the young woman transferred her knife to the hand that also held the block of wood, and she dug in a pouch at her waist until she retrieved a single coin that she proceeded to toss into his hat. She clapped her unencumbered hand against her opposite wrist.

It was then that she allowed herself to look around at the faces in the crowd. A few were familiar, such as Haydn’s and Nel, and she even thought she noted the dark hair and verdant eyes of the reclusive Savannah. Her attention returned to the story teller, and she moved nearer to him. “That was quite a tale. Where did you learn to speak that way?”

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