Atharen, A Fantasy Roleplay Forum

The day had broken this eve in Karstein. The warmth of the day had begun to recede behind the earth, the only evidence of its passing were violet and red streaks upon the sky. Ice gripped at every building, every cobblestone, offering only the refracted colorful light in recompense for the cruel disposition nature itself forced upon the residents. The faintest flurry of snow had started to paint the land, with only the distant threat of worse later in the night. It was as though nature itself had decided that all must remain indoors, yet it was too lazy to hammer such a prerogative into the denizens of the town. Clouds had just begun to fill the sky down the horizon, their presence washed away the once vibrant colors into a dull, muted grey.

Music, a singular break in the monotony, swelled from an inn just due east of the town square.

The Karling Inn was a relatively new establishment. Wrought from fine bricks, its high vaulted architecture was surprising for a town such as this. The windows were thick, but not as much as the curtains that surrounded them at all sides. An open hearth at the center provided a consistent source of warmth, as well as a space for the preparation of food in front of patrons. The drinks were more than mere mead and ale, with a varied selection which was only limited by how much farthings were offered in return for the finer brews. It was a place where the wealthy gathered. However, these folk had little clout, as the actual nobility had far better locales to play their large games of deception and propriety. Life was slower here, even for the upper class.

No more than a dozen patrons milled at this hour. In truth, not even this many would have even remained had it been any other day. It was different, in these last few dying hours of the day, as all grew still and silent. Men and women who wore silk and finery that glittered shared drinks and meals to a stranger occasion. Yet, the refined airs of the establishment was like a corset that had been drawn too tightly upon the waist. It threatened to suffocate all, even in the presence of the sound that emanated from the corner of the Karling Inn. The natural responses to dance and perhaps sing and make merry were suppressed in favor of the cruel mundanity of civilized society. Even so, the embers of interest remained, focused upon a singular point.

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Johana's fingers slowly slid across the harp's strings. Sat upon a chair that was propped up against one of the windows, she leaned her chin in against the bow. With half lidded eyes and languid movements, she brought to life a melody that maintained an even tempo. The chords favored heavier notes despite this, which provided an almost longing sensation that swelled with time, before it finally was brought back down to its normal speed. It was enough to inspire the vague inkling to dance, but not much more. There were no complex notes in its patterns, and even then, to a trained ear: there were several notes that were ad-libbed or forgotten from the prior rotation. However, for something in Karstein, it served its purpose well.

Pale skin brushed the silver leaf upon the harp's bow. Raven black hair draped down the side, which gave the illusion that half of the harp had some kind of painted backing. Thin, nimble fingers plucked at the strings in a methodical manner, wrapped in fine suede gloves that laced up to the forearm. Johana's silhouette was altered by the cloak that had been drawn to the neck, plush with dark brown fur of what appeared to be a bear. A loose dress of pale fabric beneath only brought attention to the thin body that wore it, a relaxed assembly of clothes that still maintained an odd amount of decorum. One of the more obvious signs of class in the harp's player, however? The signet ring upon the index finger, whose polished silver glistened.

A mediocre performance in such a locally high profile locale could only mean one thing: whoever was playing that harp, was someone that people wanted to see. Hints were scattered upon Johanna's form, but no answers gave. No one dare approach for a myriad of strange reasons, though the glances shared by those who spoke in hushed whispers at the bar seemed quite apt to shift their gazes towards the harp player. Rumors which dripped with curiosity filled the air in hushed tones. Not a single chaperone in sight. Who would be able to afford clothes, and an instrument such as that, without having the mind as to bring a retainer? So distant was Johana's relationship with commoners, that they did not notice the familial resemblance of a local lord.

And so, the performance continued. Johana spared no mind to the faces that watched, her fingertips only placed upon strings, gaze only upon the harp. Her existence was a mystery, and it was perhaps preferred to just remain as such. There was nothing here that would be gained by flaunting who she was.

So instead, she allowed the music to fill the air, and speak for her. A distant, melancholic tune became adapted into the cycles. Had it not been for the gloves, Johana's fingers would have surely bled by now by how much practice was had on this day. And yet much to the unspoken, unseen displeasure of Johana herself, progress remained at a standstill.

Though there were no actual boundaries that stopped them from approaching Johana, there was nothing that encouraged it. No hats placed out for tips, not even the innkeeper seemed willing to speak on behalf of what exactly was happening. He was paid handsomely by the Fairwyne family to allow her to practice here, after all.

Strings were slowly plucked as Johana continued with the song. Thin fingers pressed into a chord as a new form was tested. A newer melody was produced, something that had a slight hand over what was once a rather simple production. Beneath the notes which lumbered in their dark tone, a distant powdering of something else was within it, some kind of emotion not quite fully formed. The added notes were lighter, yes, but they were slower. The distant glisten of something shiny within an inky darkness. A burial at sea, opulence which dragged a captain down into muddy death. Perhaps, there was a different mood, with the introduction: one that implied some kind of light in the opaque depths that the song inspired, hope that budded as one swam closer to the surface to avoid such a death.

Johana's movements were slow, as she played this song. Poised in some ethereal grace, she was calm where she sat. The almost sleepy expression that she wore only added to the mood of the tune she played was almost artistic in on itself. Without a chaperone however, or without even hands that remotely assisted in such iconography, it was quite hard to discern whether or not the impromptu bard was genuinely exhausted, or the effects of the song played tricks on any observer that watched this scene. It was easy, after all, to assign things to something that was a blank slate. Johana was not a particularly talkative sort, and more than just mere intentions were left to the imagination, but the entire personality behind it. The slow movements, the isolation, these were the only things present.

As Arkash made himself known within the inn, the only sign that Johana even noticed him was simple: a glance up towards him. Not even a movement of the head. Not even a raise of the chin. It was all in the eyes. A distant, almost mercurial kind of interest. One that certainly many would have experienced in their life from passing strangers. Acknowledgement was given without a single word spoken.

Behind Johana's eyes, the world was another creature entirely. She saw wealthy patrons that many bards would murder for, just to get the attention of; saw them as mere standees where human beings should be. The politically and economically affluent, mere background noise. Her head slowly leaned against the bow of her harp as her eyes returned down, fingers caught against the strings. It was the hardest thing, to play without a muse. Johana could feel the presence of the mood that she had created, but it was a failure in one very specific regard: it made her feel nothing. It was akin to an attempt at singing without lyrics, acting without an idea, painting without reference. The raw idea of what was attempted to be imparted was captured, splayed out for the audience to hear, and yet... Nothing.

It was as though she had taken a bite of something that should have a savory flavor, only to find it lifeless. Johana was uncertain of this feeling, of this strange, unfulfilled emotion that swirled on the very tip of her tongue. What was it, then? What was being felt, here, now, in this very moment? This distant emptiness where emotion should be, where the stomach became filled with nothing but the dark?

Something soon roused Johana from her introspection. Her attention had waned indeed, it was not uncommon for her to play into the small hours of the night. Long past when the last patron found themselves retired to whatever room was purchased. When the very last soul within this inn was whoever the innkeeper decided would remain awake in case of someone who arrived in the middle of the night. Teal eyes slowly slid up from the instrument, the music itself refused to pause as the man stood before her and spoke. It would not be immediately obvious what she thought of him, only the faintest of nuzzles given to the side of her harp as she considered him. Many honey tongued speakers often opened with such comments as what was said to her in this moment. This would not be the first.


Arkash would find his genial greetings and offerings met with a strange approach. Rather than speak with him properly, the human sang to him. While it matched the melody, there was nothing done with the phrases of syllables. The trained voice was pleasant, yet there would be nothing more to say about the contents of the song itself. The composition was basic, the kind of thing that would be a forgotten draft in some town bard's diary. There was no flourish to it, besides the tune that was kept. Despite quite forwardly being the ad-libbed vocals of the presumed song, it was more like the very instrument itself was the main draw, the voice which followed was nothing more than something that supported it, and nurtured its continued focus. However, a decidedly different outcome than what one would expect soon happened.

He was no shooed away from the perch that Johana claimed as her own. Matter of fact, Arkash would soon find himself the center of her attention as her head's nuzzle allowed her face to roll against the solid metal of the harp with an almost feline grace. Though from this position her gaze looked at him sideways, it did not falter. In one decidedly singular moment, he was elevated to a face that would not even be remembered, to the focus of the song that was being played. Her eyes slowly blinked as she considered him, slowly, her song unpausing as she did so. Those that were important in the room were pressed down into the bottom rungs of attention even further. Her gaze softened as she plucked a few more experimental strings, ones that were not native to the current cycle.


Even the most impassioned, drunk on lust, lascivious rake would be able to tell that this was complete and utter falsehood. Just by the way that face moved, paired with her distant amused expression, what was being done here was nothing short of toying with Arkash. Granted, the tone was most definitely not malicious, that much was certain, but there was most definitely no genuine pretense of a curse that forced singing like this. If that were the case, than the presumed victim of such a hex would much reasonably be far more refined when it came down to the structure of the song. Indeed, it was no more than a poem spoken in soft words that matched the tempo and tone of what was being played upon the instrument. What was certain, was that Arkash was dealing with an eccentric.

A slow smile crept upon Johana's face. It was transient. Something that quite clearly awaited Arkash's response to such a strange predicament. Within moments, that soft gaze was interrupted, and the eyes were rested once more. Something was being felt, in this song. A mood, perhaps. Slowly, the shift began to take place. It started incrementally, with the low notes shifted a step higher. For a time, it continued, before it was almost inversed from what it was before. Though by no means something that rang particularly happy, what was once the distant longing for something that wasn't clear, had become slightly mischievous. Strums of higher notes sprinkled upon a lumbering measure. The vague thought of those who crept through the night for all manner of mildly inconvenient heckles.

Though a game was being played, the tone itself was kept light. A slow exhale escaped from Johana's soft lips as she rolled a shoulder into the next progression of chords. The change was enough to draw the attention of those that sat at the bar. Their gazes, however, were no like Johana's. They looked upon Arkash confusedly. The tune of the song had not changed up until now, no matter who else approached the femme. There were many that tried throughout the day, after all. Those that remained at the bar at this hour were those that had decided to stay for lodging, and had been around for far longer than the ones that were here for the drink. It seemed that the sudden change in atmosphere itself was enough to draw attention upon the man, which brought forth curious and hushed whispers.


The drink was not reached for. Given the prior things said upon the song itself, it seemed that the nymph who played the chords seemed uninterested in a drink. And yet, the company was welcomed, if the words which were being spoken were to be believed. Johana's fingers were busy, as she felt across the strings, for some semblance of an emotion that had richness in its veins. Even now, it was a far cry from what she had looked for up until now; yet the promise of reaching something other than the monotone had made itself known with quite the strange catch. With her cheek pressed against a particularly expensive flourish of gold leaf upon the harp, she awaited the man's response, attention upon him as though he held the answers to riddle which she faced, unknown to the room at large.

An attempt was made; there was only so much that could be done with what was given however. Johana's fingers made due with the man's words. He was, for now, included in the melody. The notes were quite conspicuous whenever he fumbled or did not quite match a metronome's pace. Though the deliver was shaky, something could be said about the effort taken to include what he was doing, though the average person would not even understand what went behind even doing such a thing. For now, she was content with the choice to stray from a memorized sheet of music. Granted, by now it was far beyond altered in some grasping attempt at chasing whatever was wished to be felt. At this point, such a thing was anything.



And thus, Arkash was weaved into the narrative. Just as chance had brought the two together, the fingers which plucked the strings kept the conversation alive. One thing was clear, as long as the music played upon the air, the man would be welcome to continue his attempts. It was as though some contract had been signed, just by his approach. A layer of rules left unspoken, yet nothing that seemed to encroach upon the idea of being malicious. Even as he faltered, the song warped to his voice. The tune kept its pitch. No matter how flawed his contribution of his poetry was, it seemed to have played a decent enough role in the ongoing game that it still continued. The faintest of smiles traced Johana's pale lips, formed into an almost sleepy expression.


Stakes were set, as Johana's eyes settled upon Arkash. Not once did that teal gaze shift from its half lid, even when setting a warning upon him. There was a calmness to her, one that would likely lull a less careful man into a sense of false security. The very real threat became apparent as the words sank into the air, just as those sweet notes carried them. There was no telling if this nymph's parents were men and women of means. The only thing that could hint to such a conclusion was the fine clothes that she wore, and the admittedly expensive designs on the harp. But even so, surely protective fathers would send their daughters out with a chaperone if they truly feared such an outcome? So many questions left unanswered.

Johana knew what was said. It was a half truth. Edmund, her father, for all intents and purposes would sooner kill a commoner than let her elope and drag the last hope the family had down into muddy death. Clear distinctions were made. Marriage had to come before the twenty fifth year, and it had to be with some noble with a title, no matter the cost. There was only so much that Johana could do from Karnstein, however. Though the cold made her crave for another body's warmth, the options were limited. Very rarely would those that possessed noble blood consider the risk in marriage when it came to someone not above or equal to their station: doing so was an admission of destitution to their rivals. It was a game in which no one truly won.



The first stanza between the three was different than the rest. The pattern was virtually the same, enough that it would have slipped the attention of someone who was either unlearned or simply not as involved with the words being spoken than the instrumentals. It was only the last two that actually employed the format that was presented by the first, the new rhyming scheme employed upon Arkash and his ears. Johana's creativity slowly started to stretch. Like any other workout, to get to the meat of the things that would improve one's body and mind required the slow acclimation to project into something a bit better than where one started. Perhaps, Johana thought, if nothing was to be gained from this encounter, something could at least be learned.

She used the back of her left wrist to push back some hair over her shoulder as she strummed a chord. She didn't feel the onset of a cramp, at least not yet. Though she had lost track of the hours that passed, there was still some time to get some more practice in, even if it was at the expense of a wandering stranger. For all she knew, he was yet another that came to test his luck, one among scores of men, and a sprinkling of women, that tried. His reaction is abnormal. As Johana looked upon him through the resting perch of the harp, a slow consideration was given. A vague look of interest cast upon the expression. There was something different in his approach, though Johana was ignorant of the fact that this was mere training for the man as well.

The tempo increased. Fingers spread along the strings, as a new form was slipped into rather easily. There was a mild drift in attention, almost contemplative. Johana felt something stir. Something that didn't quite make as much sense as she hoped. It was a sensation, yes, but one that was amorphous. What was once something that was little more than an emotional romp of longing, the song began a change. Again. Adaptation was key, at least how it worked in Johana's mind. Now, she was limited by the instrument she chose to use. Though she was capable of the folksy pitch she attempted, it was a harder challenge than if she had a viol rather than a harp. It had to make due, the show must go on.



Curiosity glistened in Johana's eyes. It was the first time in a while she had been engaged in a conversation, let alone something that was creatively stimulating. To be serenaded was different than to sing with someone who attempted to get the very same result. What was once horrifically one sided, an expectation, nothing more than a rote contract, had become something less easy to define with hard words and definitive sensations. It was a feeling that Johana began to enjoy. She did not know what to expect: Arkash was an unknown man from a faraway land. Her habits demanded that she not allow him an easy win into her feelings, but he was quite on the right track in his attempts to pull her into some senses she enjoyed.

Her posture became more relaxed. Rather than the rigidity of a student being told to correct every single movement, Johana's body almost seemed to become more feline. A leg began to sway across the open air in front of the harp. The nuzzles of her face against the harp became a slow bob. It was easy to get lost in the moment. A muse was caught, though only by the mere edges of her fingers, it was fleeting yet potent. She knew that this moment wouldn't last, a thought that brought her eyes closed, to rest for a moment as she continued to strum her tune. A tune that had become faster, more expected from a countryside Inn, despite the upper class nature of its interior. Johana non-verbally cursed at bringing the harp here out of all days.

To decipher fact from fiction was not Johana's talent. She was content in her allowance of soft falsehoods to hang upon the air. Who was she, to determine a stranger's intent? It was always far easier, to just assume that someone was telling the truth, at least so she believed. Everything would eventually become truth anyway, attempts to translate such a thing would be akin to grasp at the future, perhaps to even try to divine it. So much guesswork, so much trial and error. The reality was, though her mood had shifted, she had not the energy for such learning. Instruments were good enough, for they could warp the very air, to bring forth such hidden emotions and truths without words. The problem was, the journey to get there was quite harrowing indeed.


Johana harmonized with Arkash at that moment. A duet would be impossible without training, but there was still a trick up Johana's sleeve. Arkash's story was indeed something that was well thought, as many before him have even spoken of similar tales. It was here, at this crux, that she could sing the words as he spoke it. At this point, it was almost something that had become a gut instinct, not a thing unwelcomed, but one that was clearly able to be followed. Though it was still different enough from the rest that there was still a facet that interested her, perhaps it was the first hint that she was quite a familiar sort when it come to approaches like these. And how odd indeed, that someone with such strange patterns would be aware of such things.

Arkash managed to string together words decently enough. The song still played, and the tempo remained as it was. If the music was to be trusted, he could rest easy in the fact that he was still quite in a decent position with the conversation where it was. Johana's fingers strained for a moment, the joints in the index finger refused to budge for a quarter of a heartbeat. The middle finger intervened, as it slid against the strings, leaving the shorter appendage to idly stretch. For better or for worse, Arkash was now a part of this strange ritual. As he dedicated himself to it, as more words pieced together like a jigsaw through his lips, he was rewarded with the conversation which continued to flow. One in which both slowly practiced, and would continue for as long as either wished.

Even in the moment in which he surrendered, pulled away from speaking in song, the instrument merely continued. It was an invitation, one that would not stop simply because of a singular lapse in what even most common men would find to be a challenge. Johana was more interested in his attempt in on itself. How far he would be willing to go for it all. Where, exactly, Arkash's threshold for it all was. For many, it would have been the second attempt at singing. Many a suitor had fallen for this ploy. It was a challenge that threatened to practically castrate confidence in those who possessed too much of it. Those who could not face the challenge were witnessed by passersby for short temper. Those that flubbed it and got frustrated were often the laughingstocks of Court.

But here, there was no possession of such misguided noble upbringing. The slate had been wiped clean, the context for such rage and ineffective howling was quietened. A reprieve of sorts.



A sweetly sung interrogation. Flowery lilies replaced the chains and dark rooms. The gentle sway of the void dark hair in place of the lash of a whip. A harp, rather than an iron maiden. Rather than the racks which pulled a body taut, the machinations of song pulled at Arkash's mind. Information was being gotten from this, and as the pace continued, it was as though he was being given less and less time. Though the melody would wait for his voice, Johana's fingers pressed against chords, the song which played increased in tempo, almost imperceptive. The song trailed in an upward momentum as Johana gave Arkash a slow smile. It was different than the vague one that had come before, yet it was still quite underplayed. He was on the right track. Was this an endurance game?




Faster, and faster still. The stanzas began to shorten. Grace was sacrificed for the sake of speed, though the voice which sang these words managed to hold the tune. It was nothing fancy, yet it was a tribute to the missed beats of the conversation. Arkash would find his own questions unanswered, as though the song had refused them, until the past was remedied. It was clear that she hadn't found him out. It would be impossible. Certainly, even by the smile that was given, there wasn't a single way that Johana could've learned what he was. And yet, there was a strange focus upon who he was, rather than giving the allowance of the compliments and flattery to remain upon the air. Though unquestioned in his words, his disguise was being put to the test.