Fate - First Reply On The Road.

[Bard]

The fine dust of the road rose in small clouds that glistened white and tan in the midmorning sun. Quiet unhurried steps moved along the hard pack as he enjoyed the living majesty of the forest that framed the winding highway like river banks. Was it song worthy? Perhaps? A ballad, a sonnet, maybe just a short haiku like the elves enjoyed, but then he was well versed at making the mundane into magic.

With a flourish he produced his flute and played a long note and then listened for the subtle reverberations as it hung suspended on nothing, clinging in the morning like a spider on its thread waiting to ensnare and encapsulate its needed sustenance. He cleared his throat, seeing not a soul before the bend in the road ahead, and began to sing to the magical still hanging note.

"I'm trying to hollld, my breath." He vocalized, "Let it stay this way, don't let this moment end."

He raised his arms and began to turn as he reveled in the mystical power of music.

"Youuuu set off a dreeeeam in meee." He continued as his voice lifted, "Getting louder now. Can you heeearrr it echoooiiiinggg?"

Oblivious to all but the moment he continued his song as he walked slowly waiting as always for the flora to bow and the fauna to applaud.

 

[Notarius]

Pram watched from the cover of tall-grass. The man had let off a flourish that was carried by the wind- through the old boughs and colorful fauna, the notes had caught Pram's ear. He crouched in waiting, unsure of what to do next. Should he step out on the road and applaud the traveler, or relish the moment for a bit longer before going about his business?

It wasn't normal for his kind to step out from the safety of the woodlands. Sure the roads of mankind had gradually carved through the woods, but very few travelers strayed from them. Besides the occasional dabbling with elves his folk tended to their glades; sipping juniper-berry wine and enjoying the songs of the wood. The wind against the reeds, the chirping of birds, the trickling of a stream- natural music.. But here was another musician.

Pram fingered the pan pipes that hung on his waist. He watched. He thought. He thought again. He took a deep breath and stepped away from the protection of the tall-grass.

He answered the man's flourish with one of his own. Pram's notes were crisp like a nightingale's song on the first day of spring. They were sweet like a mountain's stream on a hot summer day. They held the joy of an autumn's bounty, and ended with several notes that were somber as a winter's night.

A quick glance would show that Pram was equally bestial as he was man. His lower body was covered in bristly brown fur that matched the tufts that covered his forearms and head. His eyes were black and a small pair of horns curled from his forehead. He was bare chested with the upper-body of a man and the lower-body of a goat, standing no more than four feet tall. Pram was a Satyr, a spirit of the woodlands.

 

[Bard]

The added notes pierced the air and floated on the wind like cottonwood seed. The notes were crisp like a mountain stream in spring and seemed to change like the seasons as the descended to somber necessity like a deep winter snowfall. The Bard halted his steps as the other being stepped from the trees with its pan flute in hand. A satyr, a forest fae whose kind was well known to Bard from stories and tales. As with all fae, Bard knew they could be fickle but like Bard they were curious with a love of the arts.

A wry grin, lopsided and bright, tugged up at the corner of his lips. The many necklaces, ribbons, and baubles tinkled lightly as he spread his hands wide and gave a deep flourishing bow. The sparkle in his seafoam eyes belied the facetious spirit that had struck him as suddenly as lightning from a vlue sky. He stood again and raised his flute to his lips. The sliver and grey instrument was designed to be used in multiple manners, able to sound like most woodwinds depending on which section he used.

He began on the note the pan flute had ended with and began to play the bars back around toward the more vibrant and carefree notes the satyr had begun with. For a moment he closed his eyes and felt the magic of the music drifting on the air like fireflies calmly signaling one another that they were there together.

His bare feet with their tufts of thick hair began to slowly carry him to the music as he let it penetrate his being to fill him with that old familiar joy. He finished his few bars by holding a long low note as if he were holding a sleeping child. Care and tenderness mixed with pride and protective attentions. He took another bow, this as deep and respectful as the first.

"Join me, please." He said as he smiled his most charming grin, "Even though I can offer nothing but a song for a song?"

 

[Notarius]

Pram would stomp his hooves on the dirt road and kick up a small cloud of dirt- a nervous habit of his. He'd glance in either direction on the road with his pipes still in hand. He'd already stray too far from his glade- was this a good idea?

The Satyr raised the pipes to his lips. He performed another flourish before treading his hooves again. This time the notes were jovial- upbeat and quick, a song that would give one courage to confront their crush.

After a moment Pram gave a shy nod. His voice was shaky, his demeanor timid, "Your notes.. fell upon my ears," He stammered, "I couldn't help but find their source- You are a musician?" Pram's eyes fell upon the silver instrument carried by Bard, then glanced at his own- metal versus wood, the refined product of mankind and the crude instrument of the Faye.

 

[Bard]

The timidity and shyness of the Satyr was endearing as The Bard watched him shuffle his hooves and play the fae pan flutes. There was a beauty to the vulnerability, that he'd not soon forget. Song worthy, to be sure, for though the forest spirit was a full head taller than the halfling bard, he seemed to have only been brought out by an almost childlike curiosity.

"Musician?" The bard asked brimming with pride, "I am a bard, good fae. A composer, vocalist, musician yes, storyteller, adventurer, hero, lover, and so much more."

He didn't mention the more but scoundrel should have been among them. He took a deep bow and flourished his flute and stuck it in his belt.

"A bard paints the world with their words. With a tune I can mend or join hearts, or cause the most shallow soul to find depths they never knew existed." He bragged though how true it was was anyone's guess, "I am The Silver tongued saint of the highways, and I am very glad to make your acquaintance."

He stood and looked at the Satyr with his timid voice and nervous hooves.

"But what I like most, is learning new stories and songs. Would you teach me, my new friend?"

 

[Notarius]

Stories? Not only did this creature plays songs but he had stories too. This excited Pram. He had heard many stories that concerned the realm of the fey- from limericks and haiku, to ballads and epics. But Pram had heard those tales multiple times, perhaps this creature had something different?

Pram leaned forward with a curiosity. He inspected the smaller creature, from his head down to his feet, "Perhaps.. Though I ponder, what are you?" He said, "You do not look like an elf, yet your ears are slightly pointed. Your face resembles that of menfolk, yet you are awfully small."

Memories flashed. Tales of menfolk with axes hacking away trees that had existed since the beginning of time. They over-hunted game, polluted rivers, crushing the gift of life without a second thought. Pram's face grew solemn. Pram nervously backed toward the woods that flanked the road.

 

[Bard]

"My dear friend, I am a halfling, a hobbit. the most kindly and well educated of the mortal species." the bard said with an air of surprise that did not hinder his jovial tone. "We are lovers of simple joys. A meal well cooked, smoke well packed, and ale well brewed. Though a few of us more adventurous sorts do like to travel and gather stories from other lands."

The Bard sat calmly on a rock and fingered the assortment of necklaces and talismans around his slender neck.

"Come won't you and hear a tale or two." He continued, "We've both found ourselves here. Why not make the most of it?"

Notarius