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House Fordyce Vignettes
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House Fordyce Vignettes
The head of House Fordyce padded in bare feet toward the balcony, opening the glass doors to the scene overlooking the river. The barest lights of dawn mingled with the night time torches and lamps about the city. He stepped up on the wide railing and brought the instrument to his chin. He began his song, sorrowful and low, gradually building in intensity. It was written by Grompft about three hundred fifty or so years back, and was not particularly well known amongst his works. The baby ceased it's crying as he played atop his balcony facing the rising sun.
As he played, slowly the life in the house began to stir. Children whispered out of their holes to scamper across the courtyard underneath him, lights appeared out of some of the windows, and the smell of freshly baked bread emanated from the basement kitchen. As time progressed, and light began to spill into the city and creep over the walls, other instrumentalists made their way to the center of the courtyard, next to the well, quietly warming up and tuning up their tools of the trade.
When he finished the Partita, a smattering of genuine applause reached up from down below and a playful voice shouted up to him. "Are you done playing the cock?" Chuckling despite himself, joining with the scattered laughter from the ground level, he hopped down and reentered his room. "We're going to start without you!" he heard in a slightly different tone as he straightened his hair and climbed into some clothes.
The loud cellist from before began the song they wrote together not more than a week ago. The band began playing the morning salad as they called it. They just took whatever was fresh and threw it together. Some of the more magically inclined could pull off some musical cantritps to fill out the sound, but the number and composition changed depending on who was there, as some played late in taverns, and some who couldn't get steady work there had to play the streets during the day. The streets were harsh, not merely for the general business of the common man, but also for imps that loved to thrash a musical instrument. The pseudo dragons kept them in check a fair amount of the time, but couldn't always be counted on.
As he played, slowly the life in the house began to stir. Children whispered out of their holes to scamper across the courtyard underneath him, lights appeared out of some of the windows, and the smell of freshly baked bread emanated from the basement kitchen. As time progressed, and light began to spill into the city and creep over the walls, other instrumentalists made their way to the center of the courtyard, next to the well, quietly warming up and tuning up their tools of the trade.
When he finished the Partita, a smattering of genuine applause reached up from down below and a playful voice shouted up to him. "Are you done playing the cock?" Chuckling despite himself, joining with the scattered laughter from the ground level, he hopped down and reentered his room. "We're going to start without you!" he heard in a slightly different tone as he straightened his hair and climbed into some clothes.
The loud cellist from before began the song they wrote together not more than a week ago. The band began playing the morning salad as they called it. They just took whatever was fresh and threw it together. Some of the more magically inclined could pull off some musical cantritps to fill out the sound, but the number and composition changed depending on who was there, as some played late in taverns, and some who couldn't get steady work there had to play the streets during the day. The streets were harsh, not merely for the general business of the common man, but also for imps that loved to thrash a musical instrument. The pseudo dragons kept them in check a fair amount of the time, but couldn't always be counted on.
Eddick the Steady (XIV)- Posts : 569
Join date : 2009-09-19
Location : Calimport
A common night.
To the distant sound of yowling imps and scuffling drakes, Calcedon stood at the entrance to the library in his nightgown, transfixed in the moonlight. The candle he held in it's pewter holder had dripped down over his hand and onto his bare foot, adhering it to the floor with the lightest of bonds. He stared into the darkness of the room, knowing it's contents, knowing he shouldn't be afraid, but unable to move forward. The master of the house began to ache, deep in his gut, as his innards would have been tying themselves into knots, except he knew exactly how it felt to have them in knots, and that wasn't quite it.
The row outside dulled out, and the house was quiet enough to hear the candle burning. Thick doors and rugs and old tapestries kept the sounds of sleeping from echoing through the halls. And there was nothing but the silence of books drilling into his mind the memories ringing in his ears, drowning out sense. An involuntary shudder ran through him, and he vomited from an empty stomach. Not much came out, but it was enough to snuff the candle.
"Roland!" Cal shouted, only to hear a familiar voice in his ear.
"Yes, sir."
"How long have you been watching me?" An audible gasp was heard from down the hallway, quickly stifled.
"All of it, sir."
"How did I do?"
"A count of thirty longer than last time."
"One cannot fight fear with anything but bravery."
"I'm well aware, sir."
"I'll try again in a few days. I'm headed to bed."
"I shall see to the mess."
"Thank you, Roland."
The weary master walked the large stairway toward his upper chamber. As his door shut it could be barely heard from the library entrance, and two small figures came toward the mess. Pobie was carrying a towel with a slightly trembling Vran clinging to his sleeve.
"I thought he'd caught us for sure." whispered orc blooded Vran.
Pobie did a quick spell which brought dancing orbs of light around his head for his own benefit. Vran wrenched her eyebrows as Pobie explained. "Yeah, no thanks ta you." He wiped her hand off his shirt with the towel, leaving her to stand on her own, cocking her head to the sounds of him getting down on his knees to wipe up the mess.
"How did you find out about this?" she wondered, half to herself, confusion gnawing on her throat.
"I been fetching music for Cal, 's long 's I'd been 'ere. Only stepp'n it twice for I figured out it wa Firs' Chair." He finished his wiping, cast another spell, cleaning the towel, and stuffing it unceremoniously in his pocket.
The half orc gulped, and asked tentatively. "Who was he talkin' to?"
Pobie shook his head out of habit, and more for his own sake, and shrugged his shoulders for the same reason. Finally he realized that wouldn't work to bring out what he meant, and he spoke it out loud. "Dunno."
The row outside dulled out, and the house was quiet enough to hear the candle burning. Thick doors and rugs and old tapestries kept the sounds of sleeping from echoing through the halls. And there was nothing but the silence of books drilling into his mind the memories ringing in his ears, drowning out sense. An involuntary shudder ran through him, and he vomited from an empty stomach. Not much came out, but it was enough to snuff the candle.
"Roland!" Cal shouted, only to hear a familiar voice in his ear.
"Yes, sir."
"How long have you been watching me?" An audible gasp was heard from down the hallway, quickly stifled.
"All of it, sir."
"How did I do?"
"A count of thirty longer than last time."
"One cannot fight fear with anything but bravery."
"I'm well aware, sir."
"I'll try again in a few days. I'm headed to bed."
"I shall see to the mess."
"Thank you, Roland."
The weary master walked the large stairway toward his upper chamber. As his door shut it could be barely heard from the library entrance, and two small figures came toward the mess. Pobie was carrying a towel with a slightly trembling Vran clinging to his sleeve.
"I thought he'd caught us for sure." whispered orc blooded Vran.
Pobie did a quick spell which brought dancing orbs of light around his head for his own benefit. Vran wrenched her eyebrows as Pobie explained. "Yeah, no thanks ta you." He wiped her hand off his shirt with the towel, leaving her to stand on her own, cocking her head to the sounds of him getting down on his knees to wipe up the mess.
"How did you find out about this?" she wondered, half to herself, confusion gnawing on her throat.
"I been fetching music for Cal, 's long 's I'd been 'ere. Only stepp'n it twice for I figured out it wa Firs' Chair." He finished his wiping, cast another spell, cleaning the towel, and stuffing it unceremoniously in his pocket.
The half orc gulped, and asked tentatively. "Who was he talkin' to?"
Pobie shook his head out of habit, and more for his own sake, and shrugged his shoulders for the same reason. Finally he realized that wouldn't work to bring out what he meant, and he spoke it out loud. "Dunno."
Eddick the Steady (XIV)- Posts : 569
Join date : 2009-09-19
Location : Calimport
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