Saun 39, 717
Rain pattered on the roof overhead and danced down the windows, and yet somehow the water had not brought any relief to the searing heat that still baked the whole Island even near the merciful end of Saun. Steam rose from the cobblestones and made streets and alleys hazy with the moisture, enveloping Scalvtown in a wet, hot cloud. Everyone was tired of the heat, frustrated and exhausted, yet at least a few patrons still dressed up and got themselves out for the distraction of a nice dinner and some fine spirits. It was all some folks could do, really, in order to find some way of not thinking about how they were so over-heated (and now a bit wet).
Pash sat in his chair by the window, the fireplace clean and bare, thank the Immortals, instead of blazing, though Cally’s was still quite warm because of all the work that went on in the kitchens. At least it was blessedly cooler than outside, though not by much. His fingers moved over the courses of his strings, making sure he was in tune after the jaunt in the rain—he should probably splurge for a nice case after all these arcs without one—and quietly praying for his evening’s performance to be honoring to Zanik whose mark he now bore, praying that he could bless those who listened with relief and comfort after a season of so much heat and light.
Darkness and cooler weather were just around the corner, and in a few trials, the stars would come home again. Well, the closest stars, as Padraig had pointed out, would go back to their more usual courses to allow for night to return and the other stars, those farther away than the suns, would be visible again. The tall Biqaj had learned something this season, something somewhat out of his normal comfort zone but interesting none the less. That the suns were no different from the lights that he used for guidance and storytelling, that their motions were just as important as the other stars that had their courses through the skies at night, was both fascinating and more information than he was used to being responsible for at the same time.
Where Ymiden had been a season of difficulty and struggle, sprinkled with the warmth of new, exciting things, Saun had been baked in change, mostly of the internal kind for the seafaring minstrel. What did the stars of Vhalar hold? Pash was interested to find out.
Once he’d prayed and was satisfied with the accurate sounds of his notes, he shifted in his seat and glanced around the restaurant. There were only a few patrons, more than usual at this break, but over all this season had been slower than the last simply because of the heat. Closest to him was a couple, perhaps close enough to the tall Biqaj’s age that their conversation he couldn’t hear but could observe reminded him of his time with Kali’rial, only these two perhaps had known each other longer or may have been married, though Pash didn’t look for any outward signs of such commitment so much as relied on their body language from where he sat: how they looked at each other, how they smiled, how they reached across the table to hold hands while waiting for Trudi to return (oh, she’d enjoy that one, she would). They looked tired or distracted and perhaps not as into each other as they could have been, though honestly the heat of the season wasn’t helping.
The other patrons were a large table, a family perhaps, and none of them were quite in the mood to be out in public: the way they talked with each other and the motions of their hands while they settled and waited for their meals let Pash know that they were both cranky and well on their way to becoming over-heated on so many levels.
Saun’s light and heat did that to people, it was true. The seafaring minstrel watched as Trudi began to approach the large table full of somewhat unhappy mixed Scalvoris citizens, and he closed his eyes and began to play. He thought about the crisp evenings of Ashan and the cool breezes that would once again blow across the harbor come Vhalar, letting his thoughts guide his hands across the courses of his lute in order to play a melody that was both of those things: crisp and cool. He sought to play refreshing music, to let all of those who heard in the restaurant feel as though they had just been handed a fresh, cold glass of water.
As an Empath, the tall Biqaj could only sway the emotions of others, not their sensations.
He could not change what they felt, physically, nor how his target’s nerves fired and responded to stimuli. He could not cause physical pain or bodily pleasure by manipulating someone’s threads within their emotional tangle, but he could still sway similar feelings: he could assuage frustrations, he could fan the feelings of relief, and he could weave feelings of comfort into the chilled chords he chose to pluck as he made his song, even though he could not make them physically feel as though they were outside on a cold Z’ida evening.
Zanik’s blessing allowed him to wash these feelings through what he played and over his audience like a refreshingly cold tide washing up over the hot sands of Scalvoris beach, though his reach was limited. The restaurant was a fair testing ground for the salty bard, a safe place to experiment with his abilities in a way that was neither obtrusive nor damaging so long as he paid attention to what he was doing and kept the volume of his playing at a background level. It wasn’t like he wanted to harm anyone, anyway—the suns outside did plenty of that without his assistance.
The crowd that filled Cally’s restaurant was small, but it would grow, and Pash couldn’t maintain his emotional connections indefinitely. So he played for a few bits and watched, a few bits more and watched some more, using the family as his gauge instead of the couple closest to him. Their hand motions and body language slowly became less full of aggravation and annoyance, and his lagoon blue gaze watched as they began to settle into their table and smile at Trudi and finally, finally enjoy their meal and each other’s company. While he couldn’t make them feel physically cooler, his music became refreshing to their spirits, to their minds.
The couple closest to him, however, they were still struggling.
The wine had not been enough to ease the sense of distance between them. While they talked and smiled, their body language seemed forced and strained. They did not willingly reach to touch each other and sat in such a way across the table from each other that it almost felt as if the table itself was the Orm’del sea and they were distant shores. Pash, of course, was only making interpretations of his own imagination as he shifted his tune, his choice of chords still relaxed, almost literally chilled, but his melody warmer and well, romantic. He watched the pair, aware of how there were easy and difficult times that ebbed and flowed between two people who shared their hearts with each other, and at least the two of them were putting some kind of effort into restoring their relationship by enjoying an expensive, exciting dinner.
At least, the seafaring musician hoped that’s why they were here. Surely tonight between the two of them was a step in the right direction instead of a last hurrah. Right?
It was easy for him to drift into the currents of his own imagination as he watched them, as he watched Trudi smile and flirt a bit, leaving their main course on the table with a wink. It was easier still for him to project his own situation like Saun’s light into the motion of his fingers over the strings of his lute and into what he imagined about their life, to watch the two as his melody filled the room with thoughts wandering to his own feelings for Kali’rial and how he’d resisted them, how they still did not have to agree on everything, and yet how strangely things simply, pleasantly worked harmoniously between them. Watching the couple as a few more customers wandered in out of the heat, Pash could see that he had perhaps put a bit too much of his own feelings distractedly into his playing, but it didn’t seem to have been such a poor decision. The two sipped their wine and looked at each other with warmer glances than when they’d first arrived, finally holding hands across the table as they waited for their dessert.
The tall Biqaj smiled, still quite wrapped up in his own thoughts for a few more bits, looking away to watch the large family gathering prepare to leave, also in much better spirits than they hard arrived. Everyone seemed refreshed, from the oldest to the youngest, cooler and kinder to each other in their parting.
The new arrivals to the restaurant were numerous and varied—a few mixed tables, a few couples—slowly filtering into the heat from the scorching but wet torture outside. The rain had let up and yet still not left relief in its wake. He’d have a busy evening of auditory refreshment so long as Cally’s continued to have customers.
Pash sat in his chair by the window, the fireplace clean and bare, thank the Immortals, instead of blazing, though Cally’s was still quite warm because of all the work that went on in the kitchens. At least it was blessedly cooler than outside, though not by much. His fingers moved over the courses of his strings, making sure he was in tune after the jaunt in the rain—he should probably splurge for a nice case after all these arcs without one—and quietly praying for his evening’s performance to be honoring to Zanik whose mark he now bore, praying that he could bless those who listened with relief and comfort after a season of so much heat and light.
Darkness and cooler weather were just around the corner, and in a few trials, the stars would come home again. Well, the closest stars, as Padraig had pointed out, would go back to their more usual courses to allow for night to return and the other stars, those farther away than the suns, would be visible again. The tall Biqaj had learned something this season, something somewhat out of his normal comfort zone but interesting none the less. That the suns were no different from the lights that he used for guidance and storytelling, that their motions were just as important as the other stars that had their courses through the skies at night, was both fascinating and more information than he was used to being responsible for at the same time.
Where Ymiden had been a season of difficulty and struggle, sprinkled with the warmth of new, exciting things, Saun had been baked in change, mostly of the internal kind for the seafaring minstrel. What did the stars of Vhalar hold? Pash was interested to find out.
Once he’d prayed and was satisfied with the accurate sounds of his notes, he shifted in his seat and glanced around the restaurant. There were only a few patrons, more than usual at this break, but over all this season had been slower than the last simply because of the heat. Closest to him was a couple, perhaps close enough to the tall Biqaj’s age that their conversation he couldn’t hear but could observe reminded him of his time with Kali’rial, only these two perhaps had known each other longer or may have been married, though Pash didn’t look for any outward signs of such commitment so much as relied on their body language from where he sat: how they looked at each other, how they smiled, how they reached across the table to hold hands while waiting for Trudi to return (oh, she’d enjoy that one, she would). They looked tired or distracted and perhaps not as into each other as they could have been, though honestly the heat of the season wasn’t helping.
The other patrons were a large table, a family perhaps, and none of them were quite in the mood to be out in public: the way they talked with each other and the motions of their hands while they settled and waited for their meals let Pash know that they were both cranky and well on their way to becoming over-heated on so many levels.
Saun’s light and heat did that to people, it was true. The seafaring minstrel watched as Trudi began to approach the large table full of somewhat unhappy mixed Scalvoris citizens, and he closed his eyes and began to play. He thought about the crisp evenings of Ashan and the cool breezes that would once again blow across the harbor come Vhalar, letting his thoughts guide his hands across the courses of his lute in order to play a melody that was both of those things: crisp and cool. He sought to play refreshing music, to let all of those who heard in the restaurant feel as though they had just been handed a fresh, cold glass of water.
As an Empath, the tall Biqaj could only sway the emotions of others, not their sensations.
He could not change what they felt, physically, nor how his target’s nerves fired and responded to stimuli. He could not cause physical pain or bodily pleasure by manipulating someone’s threads within their emotional tangle, but he could still sway similar feelings: he could assuage frustrations, he could fan the feelings of relief, and he could weave feelings of comfort into the chilled chords he chose to pluck as he made his song, even though he could not make them physically feel as though they were outside on a cold Z’ida evening.
Zanik’s blessing allowed him to wash these feelings through what he played and over his audience like a refreshingly cold tide washing up over the hot sands of Scalvoris beach, though his reach was limited. The restaurant was a fair testing ground for the salty bard, a safe place to experiment with his abilities in a way that was neither obtrusive nor damaging so long as he paid attention to what he was doing and kept the volume of his playing at a background level. It wasn’t like he wanted to harm anyone, anyway—the suns outside did plenty of that without his assistance.
The crowd that filled Cally’s restaurant was small, but it would grow, and Pash couldn’t maintain his emotional connections indefinitely. So he played for a few bits and watched, a few bits more and watched some more, using the family as his gauge instead of the couple closest to him. Their hand motions and body language slowly became less full of aggravation and annoyance, and his lagoon blue gaze watched as they began to settle into their table and smile at Trudi and finally, finally enjoy their meal and each other’s company. While he couldn’t make them feel physically cooler, his music became refreshing to their spirits, to their minds.
The couple closest to him, however, they were still struggling.
The wine had not been enough to ease the sense of distance between them. While they talked and smiled, their body language seemed forced and strained. They did not willingly reach to touch each other and sat in such a way across the table from each other that it almost felt as if the table itself was the Orm’del sea and they were distant shores. Pash, of course, was only making interpretations of his own imagination as he shifted his tune, his choice of chords still relaxed, almost literally chilled, but his melody warmer and well, romantic. He watched the pair, aware of how there were easy and difficult times that ebbed and flowed between two people who shared their hearts with each other, and at least the two of them were putting some kind of effort into restoring their relationship by enjoying an expensive, exciting dinner.
At least, the seafaring musician hoped that’s why they were here. Surely tonight between the two of them was a step in the right direction instead of a last hurrah. Right?
It was easy for him to drift into the currents of his own imagination as he watched them, as he watched Trudi smile and flirt a bit, leaving their main course on the table with a wink. It was easier still for him to project his own situation like Saun’s light into the motion of his fingers over the strings of his lute and into what he imagined about their life, to watch the two as his melody filled the room with thoughts wandering to his own feelings for Kali’rial and how he’d resisted them, how they still did not have to agree on everything, and yet how strangely things simply, pleasantly worked harmoniously between them. Watching the couple as a few more customers wandered in out of the heat, Pash could see that he had perhaps put a bit too much of his own feelings distractedly into his playing, but it didn’t seem to have been such a poor decision. The two sipped their wine and looked at each other with warmer glances than when they’d first arrived, finally holding hands across the table as they waited for their dessert.
The tall Biqaj smiled, still quite wrapped up in his own thoughts for a few more bits, looking away to watch the large family gathering prepare to leave, also in much better spirits than they hard arrived. Everyone seemed refreshed, from the oldest to the youngest, cooler and kinder to each other in their parting.
The new arrivals to the restaurant were numerous and varied—a few mixed tables, a few couples—slowly filtering into the heat from the scorching but wet torture outside. The rain had let up and yet still not left relief in its wake. He’d have a busy evening of auditory refreshment so long as Cally’s continued to have customers.
Off Topic
1,587 words.
