• Memory • Singing to the Great Folk (Graded)

[Kalortah]

Ashan 82nd 717


The avriel flew overhead, far above the city of Athart. The air traffic was fairly light that day, and even on it's busiest day the sun still shone through the air currents. Even so, there was trepidation in Kalortah's mind as he pondered joining them on the wing. This would be his first attempt at busking an event in his home city, after having returned. He hadn't the nerve back then to sing to the Grand Aeolian when he returned, only to say who he'd met and some of what he'd done. It was a great honor to have made her acquaintance, nevertheless, but he wished he had left a better impression.

So as he jumped into a strong air current, his wings flew behind him, lifting him into the skies. There he circled the city, before heading off into the Forest of Stone, looking at the larger houses for a place where he might seek a patron.

His flight took him around the area for about a break before he spotted a suitable scene. A large villa, where a gathering of avriel were mingling, drinking, and eating, it looked promising. He started lowering himself on the wing, until he landed on the ledge. There, he bowed to the people gathered, introducing himself. "Kalortah Satravial. I wonder if you have need of a bard?"

Having said this, he adjusted his drum on his shoulder, and looked at each of the avriel gathered there. He looked for signs of disfavor as well as welcoming glances, hoping they wouldn't just drive him off like so many others had during the hunting arcs.

[Pharan]

T

he dish had been arranged on a small, round plate wrought from silver. Fruits, carved into the image of exotic florets, encompassed a selection of meats. Some cooked, some raw, some worked into slices so thin they almost seemed translucent, the morsels were a sight to behold. A mixture of blood and cooking juices pooled around the decoration, adding to its luscious appeal.

Pharan was almost certain the dish’s placement on the table for the auxiliaries had been a mistake, but that hadn’t stopped him from snatching it up. No one had protested. By his side, Ryvern was engaged in conversation with a fellow diplomat. Pharan listened with half an ear, nodding in the odd instances his input was required.

Mostly, he watched the ebb and flow of the crowd.

The gathering, like all gatherings, had his own, intricate dynamics. As always, Pharan tried his best to soak it all up, to file away anything that might prove useful to his work. Who talked to whom. Who was sought out by their fellow guests. Who was avoided. There was a game afoot on the polished stone floors of the villa and Pharan wasn’t sure he understood its rules just yet.

“…at do you think?”

Only belatedly, Pharan realized it was him, the diplomat had addressed. He looked from Ryvern to the old Avriel who lingered by his side and cursed his ever-wandering mind. It was the arrival of a new guest that saved him.

“I probably should—”

“Yes—yes, yes,” Ryvern waved off.

A little mournfully Pharan surrendered his platter to the ambassador. No half a bit later he already stood before Kalortah, to look the bard over. A few of the gathered guests cast them passing glances. Most ignored them.

“You are late,” Pharan observed. “But you brought your own instruments—good.” His lips twitched into an amused smile. “The last girl was so nervous she forgot hers.”

He motioned the other man to follow him as he set out to the other end of the balcony where a dais had been raised. “Do you know already what you want to play?”, he asked. “Pieces about the glory of battle are very popular right now.”

[Kalortah]

The people there were fancy, fancier than Kalortah, that was for certain. Although Athartian fashion wasn't much for layering on silks and jewels, the avriel gathered there were expertly decorated with flashes of gold, silver, and of course silk. And the food made Kalortah's mouth water. It'd been a day or so since he'd eaten at that point. So as the people didn't immediately chase him off, he wandered in among the people.

One of them, a dapple winged young avriel greeted him midway between him and the tray of drinks. "Apologies for my lateness, milord." Kalortah said, hoping he was addressing the young dignitary properly. And he nodded at his drum, glad that he'd already seemed to have found his way into this party.

When he related the last girl's nerves, he smiled wide in order to hide the tic in his lips. He was nervous too. Avriel society could be cruel, and bards weren't well looked upon. Those who excelled were of course elevated, but Kalortah was fairly new to this career. Only a few arcs ago, he'd been taught to sing by a Sev'ryn in Desnind. He had talent, and the ability to paint wonderful little patterns on the air, but would it be good enough for this crowd? He'd have to try.

"Yes, of course! I'll need a drink for this song I'm going to sing, it's a rousing toast." Kalortah said, as he followed the dignitary. He wondered what their name was. But it would be rude for him to ask.

"My father used to sing it to me and my brothers as we played at war, pelting slaves with rocks from above while learning to fly." Kalortah smiled at the memory. It was all in good fun. It didn't occur to him that the slaves might not enjoy it as much.

Taking up a chalice from a nearby tray, Kalortah walked to the center of the balcony, and began tapping his drum in rhythm. "This is called, Toast to the Aeolian.

So, he sangHere's a health to Grand Aeolian, Gleneah,
To conflict an end, to wealth increase;
Come, let us drink it while we have breath,
For there's no drinking after death,
And he that will this health deny,

Down among the Flightless,
Down among the Flightless,
Down, down, down, down,
Down among the Flightless let him die.

Let charming Beauty's health go round,
In whom celestial joys are found;
And may confusion still pursue,
The senseless woman hating few,
And they that woman's health deny;

Down among the Flightless,
Down among the Flightless,
Down, down, down, down,
Down among the Flightless let him die.

May love and wine their joys maintain,
And their united pleasures reign;
While smiling plenty crowns the land,
We'll sing the joys that both afford:
And they that won't with us comply,

Down among the Flightless,
Down among the Flightless,
Down, down, down, down,
Down among the Flightless let him die.

Lyrics of "Down Among the Dead Men" attributed to John Dyer, adapted to Idalos.
We'll call it 'Toast to the Aeolian'

When he was done, he took a sip from the chalice, and enjoyed the flavor. He looked around from face to face, to see if his song had pleased this crowd. If not, he could always try another.

[Pharan]

M

ilord.

Pharan studied the bard by his side with schooled civility. Had his momentary confusion at the address showed? He wasn’t sure.

“Pharan Elluin—but you can call me Pharan,” he corrected as he fell in step beside Kalortah. “I work as an aide to ambassador Ryvern—”, he motioned to an old Avriel at the far end of the balcony, “—but tonight I have the… tremendous honor of helping with the proceedings of the evening.”

Pharan’s smile was thin. For the most part, his duties were simple. Watch the crowd. Take note of lone diplomats. Introduce them to men and women they could talk to—ideally, individuals they had no past feuds or quarrels with. He was tasked with stepping in should tempers begin to flare, but tonight, with the cool Ashan breeze breathing over the crowd, tension was low.

Beside Kalortah, Pharan nodded. “Of course. Take what you need.”

As the bard reached for the chalice, Pharan stepped back towards the crowd. Around him, drinks were raised in answer to the bard’s toast. Conversations creased. Not everyone had the sense to break their moments of self-aggrandizement and boastful retelling of past exploits at the prospect of a song raised to praise the Aeolian, but many at least gave the appearance of paying attention.

As Kalortah’s song ebbed away, the cheers among the crowd rose. It was mostly the aides and auxiliaries like Pharan who gave voice to their approval, but a few of the older diplomats nodded to themselves before turning back to their conversations.

Pharan waited. Once the bard had dealt with the last person to compliment him on his performance, he motioned Kalortah to follow as he led the way to a table in the corner. It was overwrought with artfully arranged dishes and cooled wine in crystalline pitchers.

“And that was a piece you wrote yourself?”

[Kalortah]

"Kalortah! My boy!" Came the voice from among the crowd.

Rattling up to him, in all his military regalia, was the old retired Wing Captain, Orochin Valinal. His father had known the avriel, and served under him as a War-singer. Kalortah would recognise his uneven vocal tone immediately. "I'd recognise that face anywhere. Still the spitting image of your mother, though!"

Kalortah blushed, grinding his teeth as the old soldier wrapped an arm around him. "Good to see you, Captain."

"Yes, yes, well why doesn't you father come out to see the ranks some time? Things have changed a great deal since he flew in my wing." Orochin grinned sardonically, "Anyway, there's others here I need to attend to, but we should catch up... Be sure to give all my love to your mother..."

There was more of a story there, but Kalortah didn't relish thinking on it too much.

He was saved anyway as Orochin disengaged, allowing Pharan to approach him. "That piece? Oh no, my father was a War-singer in the military... He learned it while fighting with them, and later taught me and my brothers to sing the old battle hymn while we were learning to fly." Kalortah took a sip of his cup, relishing the taste of the wine. He followed Pharan as he led him toward a table that was laden with dishes and wine. He didn't waste much time in sampling some of the salted meats and cheeses.

Between bites and swallows, he managed to attempt some conversation with his benefactor. "I didn't expect to see Orochin here... Or anyone I actually know. I hope that wasn't a problem."

A few more bites of food, and swallowing it, he looked up at Pharan. "I hope my singing was good enough, Pharan. In truth, I've tried busking many places, but few enough of them appreciate song."

"By the way, don't be shy if you have any requests for songs." He smiled, then paused, "I have a few compositions of my own I've written."

[Pharan]

P

haran watched the captain walk off. Too old, for active duty, he decided, just as the crowd swallowed up the old man’s haggard form. Retired, then.

Before he could consider any potential implications, Kalortah had already joined him. Pharan offered the bard a distracted smile. “So, the second in a line of artists?” he questioned. “Your father must be proud to have a son follow into his footsteps.”

It was what his own father had wanted, for a while.

Too bad you don’t always get what you want, Pharan thought.

They reached the table. Kalortah immediately threw himself at the food, but Pharan only paid it half a mind. He picked up a small plate with pallid fish he did not touch as he watched the nearby guests. A few Avriel, fellow aides, stopped to observe the bard feast, but Pharan ignored them, too.

It was only when Kalortah spoke up, worried whenever knowing the captain would be a problem, Pharan turned. He cast the other man a curious glance. “No… why would it?”

He looked back towards the crowd: some diplomats, some men and women ranking among the military personnel, even a selected human or two. “I suspect some two arcs ago, they would have invited less members of the soldiery… retired or otherwise. But since we joined forces with Nashaki against the Empire… well, their voices gained a certain weight even in our circles,” he said after a bit of consideration.

Not that he had worked for the ambassador two years back, but it was an easy guess.

“I don’t know much about music,” Pharan said and shifted away from the end of the table. In his dark tunic with the sober cut he struck an oddly solemn figure among the brightly colored masses. “I thought it was good, though.” He paused. “I wouldn’t mind to hear something about our history though… if you got something. And the guests would like it too, I suspect.”

He fell quiet, then turned to look at Kalortah again. “Do you plan to also join the military? To aid in battle like your father?”

[Kalortah]

Kalortah slowed his eating when he noticed the crowd forming to watch the bard eat. Suddenly a bit abashed by this attention, he set down the eating knife, and paid more attention to his host. Perhaps it was time for him to sing another number?

But then Pharan asked him about his lineage, ”Ahh yes, as far as I know second in line. I didn’t know my grandparents well. But we’re not a people to prop up the fallen for long, are we?”

He smiled grimly at that. He wished things were different sometimes, that there might be some vestige of himself that would survive the ages beyond his own lifespan. It was part of what led him to the pure path of the bard, so that his songs would be remembered beyond his own life’s ending, even if no songs were sung of him personally, at least he contributed to the legacy of his people.

He ignored the assertion that his father was proud. In fact, his father had often been hard on him as a child, especially given the fact that he was perceived as weak and sickly. He didn’t know what his father thought of him, truth be told. His father kept his feelings and thoughts close to his vest. He was an old soldier first, and a singer second. Kalortah was a singer only.

”Oh! Nothing…” He said, watching as the old captain retreated into the throngs. He wondered when that bag of feathers would be laid upon a pyre. Wouldn’t be too long before some old rivalry flared up resulting in his end. ”I’ve not played at many of these functions myself, and I’m a tad unpracticed at etiquette. I’ve only just returned from abroad… I spent more time abroad than many of our kind tends to, but it was worth it. My time in Desnind in the hunting arcs was very enlightening.”

”I’m not the strongest of arm, of most avriel… I’m sure I could contribute as a soldier, at least in some capacity, if I trained enough. But writing songs and trying to get noticed as an artist tends to take up much of that time.”

”And I don’t know much of our history, regretfully. We Avriel are often preoccupied with the glories of the present, as befits our greatness. An emphasis on history is a sign of decadence and a civilization looking backward, not forward. We must always been looking to the future, or at the very least, to the now. At least as a whole…”

Kalortah wondered at Pharan’s thoughts on these topics. The younger avriel seemed to be very intelligent and thoughtful for one of their kind. A kindred spirit perhaps.

[Pharan]

N

o, we are not.”

Jaene had once proposed it was a deficiency in the way their human and bird brains had been mended together, as birds grieved briefly or not at all, but he had never quite believed in that explanation and he didn’t repeat it. His eyes found the throng of his fellow aides, now in the process of dispersion as Kalortah stopped eating. Pharan cast him a glance.

“Don’t worry about them. People are quick to forget that they, too, have known hunger—at least once they spend enough time around well-filled plates.” His eyes followed a wispy, raven-winged woman as she walked past them, her cool bird eyes fixed on something way beyond them. “Especially when it means to admit that, sometimes, or most of the time, they failed to make the kill they had set their eyes on,” he said with a wink.

Pharan reached out towards the bard, stopped mid-motion, then continued if the other man didn’t protest to tug his clothes into place here or there. “There is not much etiquette to observe. They thrust us out of the nest in the hopes we return proud warriors, wise of the world and in control of ourselves—so we humor them by making a display of how cultivated we are, how well-restrained, compared to the savage masses beleaguering our borders.”

He looked to left, past Kalortah, as voices rose over the lively murmur of the crowd. Before he could decide if his interference was needed the currents of guests wandering the balcony had swept the arguing parties apart.

And sometimes, he thought, that even works.

He looked back to the bard. “That said—we are the crown of creation so who is going to argue if we just do whatever we want sometimes?”, he asked as he picked up the fish on his plate with pointed fingers and too-sharp nails and dropped the slender morsel whole into his mouth. Running a thumb along his lower lip, he smiled, the expression only a faint tug at the corner of his lips.

“I can't say I got around as far as some,” Pharan admitted as he motioned the other man to follow once he had finished eating. “I spend a decent amount of time in the Hotlands and the surrounding areas—at least till the war. I traveled almost all the way up to Viden once, but the cold was not for me.”

He cast the bard sidelong look at the suggestion they were not, in fact, a decadent lot, but remained quiet. “I do think a lot of our early histories were ill preserved—for a lack of interest or other reasons I can’t tell,” he said instead as he directed them towards the spot Kalortah had picked first for his performance.

“But surely even we can learn a thing or two from our greater victories.”

[Kalortah]

Kalortah nodded at his assertion that etiquette wasn’t a large part of these functions. He was glad. He had little enough training in the way of manners since leaving the nest, and since arriving back several arcs ago. He’d spent more time than he liked to admit amongst the humans beneath them, and the various immortals-twisted variants thereof that also dwelt or visited the city.

He had to admit to a certain morbid curiosity toward those groundlings, as they were called. It’d been a Sev’ryn that taught him the art of singing and poetry, the art that had held his attention enthralled through the rest of his hunting arcs, and kept him going through many hard trials.

”Yes, we do what we want more often than not. Our ability to simply fly away from trouble, or to pick up those troubles and drop them onto some sharp rocks… Flight has a strange way of entitling us to greater liberty amid lesser races.”

Kalortah nodded to Pharan, rising to follow the other avriel after he stopped eating. He noted the other avriel’s interest in past histories of the avriel. Kalortah certainly wished his primary education included more information about the battles his father served in, or his mother for that matter.

Having been directed toward the spot of his performance, however, Kalortah knew well enough he was put on the spot to perform once more. He wasn’t sure if he’d have the memories of his father’s battles to retell in a way that did his voice justice. Even so, he felt he ought to belt out something.

So as he separated himself from Pharan, with a nod, he announced, ”This is a little poem I’ve been working on in my spare time. A simple ode to the hunt.”

"Floral Winds Flow,
Beneath gossamer wings.

Reddened Flesh Parts,
Before Razor Teeth.

Serpent's Coil Twists,
Deadly Fangs Unsheathed.

Winged Hide Torn,
Hearts Grounded Cease."

The refrain continued several times, interspersed with wordless chanting and rhythmic beating of his drum. He repeated it a few times, changing the words every so often. Experimenting with different turns of phrase.

Finally he concluded his little performance, and bowed slightly to the crowd.

He thought he’d recalled a memory that he could turn into a song, if he could have a moment to twist it into something vaguely rhymed and musical.

[Pharan]

P

haran had found himself a spot among the guests once more. With half an ear he listened in on the chatter of a young woman who spoke to an older diplomat about the victories they would surely soon score in Nashaki. He cast her a quick look. She had the straight, haughty bearing of the untested soldier. The woman she prattled to was tall and narrow-faced, and radiant in her layers of saffron-yellow silks. Pharan was almost certain, her attention was elsewhere, too.

Around them, more and more faces turned to Kalortah as the sound of his drum rose above the murmur of the crowd. Somewhere further down an excited voice requested an encore, but before Pharan could spot who it was, a movement by his side caught his attention.

“I thought we hired that girl again,” Nemeth said as he stopped by Pharan’s side. “You know… the one we had last time.”

“I didn’t do the hiring,” Pharan said without looking at his fellow auxiliary. The bard’s words about busking rung hollow and distant in his ears. What were the chances, that a bard happened across a party just as the original performer failed to show up? Slim, he decided. Very slim.

But not impossible.

“I am sure we hired the girl.”

“Why?”, Pharan asked irritably, his eyes on Kalortah. “She was terrible.”

“And good looking.”

This time Pharan turned if only to quirk an eyebrow at his fellow aide.

Nemeth straightened. “And she is the daughter of… I forgot the name. Someone important.” Now he looked towards the bard, arms crossed. “I will go and find Narizah, ask who she hired. We can’t have uninvited—”

“—I will handle it,” Pharan interrupted.

“Are you sure? I wouldn’t mind, to see her get taken down a peck or two,” Nemeth said and shrugged. “She is always so…”

“I will handle it,” Pharan repeated. With a smile he didn’t feel, he clapped the other man on the shoulder. He could sense Nemeth scowl behind his back but paid it no mind as he strode forward to join Kalortah again.

“Just as great as the first time,” he offered as the throngs of people around the musician creased. He looked towards the drum the other man was holding. “It’s not often I have seen poetry accompanied by drum play. Is that also something you learned in Desind? Or a relic of your father’s teachings as a war-singer?”