Emray felt her heart sink deep into her stomach as she approached the outer pavilion. A white awning festooned with blue tinsel and illuminated by a pair of hovering balls of silver light led into the massive covered area, and a chattering queue of her fellow students were lined up waiting to get in.
"Wise Liriax, get me through this one night and I’ll dedicate my every invention to you," Emray murmured in prayer as the line got progressively shorter. She imagined that this is what a prisoner felt like walking to their execution, only she was better dressed and probably more nervous.
When Emray got to the podium under the awning she was halfway relieved to see Professor Sedgewick seated there, hair slicked into a grim simulacrum of a part and wearing an ostentatious set of powder blue robes.
“Emray Alvurshi, in the flesh for all to see? Surely Ostella is about to fall out of the sky if you’re here!” Sedgewick said, with mock horror.
“If it would get me out of being here then I’d gladly take the apocalypse over this,” Emray replied, holding her wrist out to be stamped.
“Be that as it may, I’m glad to see you here. Your outfit looks lovely, and I’m sure Elifas will be happy you came, despite the week’s recent events.”
Emray felt the soft rubber stamp press down onto her wrist, marking her with a blue snowflake like it was traitor’s brand. She gave a polite nod to Professor Sedgewick and walked in, her hard-soled flats tapping against the smooth stone that made up the Tower’s central courtyard.
The first thing Emray particularly noticed were the sounds. There was the murmur of people making small talk all around her, talking about any number of topics. How any of them could hear each other over the collective din was a mystery to her, especially with the sound of the band playing in the background.
Positioned by the courtyard fountain, on a medium sized and gaudily decorated stage, was a quartet of musicians playing some light and cheerful melodies. They consisted of two humans, a man and a woman who could’ve been twins for as much as they resembled each other, a draconic woman with vibrant green scales and a webbed head frill running from her forehead down to her neck, and a dark elvish man with his long blonde hair done back in a complex braid and wearing an opulent outfit of black and gold. The humans each played a small harp, one with six strings and one with eight, the draconic woman played a wide selection of percussion instruments, from bells to tambourines to hand drums, and the dark elf was playing some complicated instrument with twelve strings and a long neck terminating in a bowl-shaped body.
Slowly Emray felt herself gravitate towards the stage, if only so she could have a convenient excuse to talk to as few people as possible. No one would bother her if she was obviously listening to and enjoying the music, so it could give her some time to acclimate to the environment.
Their melodies were pleasant, bringing a sort of subnivean sound to the forefront, like it was being played in the middle of an open, snowy field. The dark elf in particular was amazingly quick and precise with his finger work, and in another life he could’ve made for a wonderful artificer with that sort of strength and dexterity in his hands.
“Like what you’re hearing, m’lady?” asked the dark elf, breaking Emray out of her trance.
“I’m sorry?” she asked, being taken slightly aback that he would ask her something while he was performing before noticing that he hadn’t stopped playing.
“I’m asking if you like the music, silly,” he reiterated, flashing a warm smile. His immaculately white teeth, combined with his pale blue eyes and rich blonde hair, contrasted in a perfect way with his coal black skin.
“More like what I’m seeing,” Emray blurted out, slightly flustered by his charm.
“Goodness, shouldn’t you at least buy me dinner first?” the dark elf replied. “Don’t think I’ve been come onto like that since my first troupe.”
Emray’s face flushed over with an intense wave of embarrassment, and she was certain she was beet red. Not ten minutes into the night and she’d already made a complete fool of herself while actively trying to avoid the very situation she was now embroiled in.
“No, nothing like that,” Emray stammered out, “it’s just, you have such delicate finger-work with your playing, and I think it’s interesting because I do a lot of work with my hands too, a-and, I mean…”
The dark elf gave her another smile before turning to his companions. He gave a quick series of hand gestures to them, which the human woman gave a nod to. Seemingly satisfied, he quickly trailed off from playing, slung his instrument across his back, and stepped down off the stage to greet Emray face to face.
“Antareon Lumis, the Rundir Bard of Sashpaldol and beyond, at your service,” he declared, giving a polite bow to Emray.
“Oh, don’t let me keep you from playing, I’m sur—” Emray began.
“Think nothing of it, it was about time for my break anyway. Now, I do believe the proper protocol is that when a new friend introduces themselves, you introduce yourself back. Or am I mistaken?”
“Oh, not at all. I’m Emray Alvurshi, I’m a student here at the Tower.” Emray stiffly extended her hand for a shake, which Antareon took. His fingers were rough with calluses, but the palms were soft and silken.
“I must say, it is quite the institution of learning you have here,” Antareon stated. “Much more than I had growing up, I’ll tell you that much.”
“You had a formal education?” Emray asked, leaning against the stage to keep her legs from wanting to give out from underneath her.
“Oh, nothing of the sort. I did all of my learning on the road, from hedge knights and traveling wizards passing little bits and pieces of their wisdom down onto little old me. I traveled with a troupe of musicians, like the Rundir do.”
“Doesn’t seem like much of an education if you ask me,” Emray commented.
“Does it? Tell me, what sorts of things do you study here? I’m told that this is a school of the arcane, surely you must have some magical ability if you attend.”
With a quick flourish of the hand, Emray made a puff of silver smoke and glitter manifest out of thin air.
“You could say that, yes. I mostly study artificery and evocative magic, with a particular emphasis on energy transmission through material components and the enchanting of materials to perform specific functions.”
“Sounds like some heavy learning,” Antareon said. “Now, can you shoe a horse?”
Emray quizzically shook her head no.
“How about play through a set of music with only ten strings on your bouzouki because you don’t have the coin yet to repair the other two that broke?”
“Can’t say that I can, no,” Emray answered, fearing where this conversation was going.
“Then surely you can at least prepare a hot meal for yourself out of rudimentary ingredients?”
“That I can do,” Emray commented. “A lot of my childhood was spent doing that for me and my little brother.”
“Then you’re not as sheltered as I thought you would be, but you are still perilously myopic in the scope of your knowledge,” Antareon replied, giving Emray’s shoulder a pat. “The life of a Rundir troubadour teaches you how to live life to the fullest, even in the most mundane parts of it.”
“You keep using that word, ‘Rundir’. Is that another word for dark elf?” Emray asked.
“And your knowledge grows ever narrower,” Antareon replied with a disappointed sigh. “The Rundir are not a distinct race the way that elves, humans, draconids, and the like are. We are a culture of free-spirits, a people defined by our love of living and our willingness to do anything to safeguard the liberties of those who travel with us. We travel wherever the winds directs us, and bring joy and creative energy wherever the fates see fit to send us.”
Emray narrowed her eyes as Antareon continued his speech, curious about how he could have such a glamorous view of essentially being a vagrant. Emray had nearly experienced that sort of life, and the thought of it terrified her to her core.
“Sounds like an interesting lifestyle, but I doubt that it’s for me,” Emray said
“Doubts are ideas you’ve decided to ignore before thinking on them, Ms. Emray,” Antareon answered. “Doubts are the death of the artistic mind, whether it be the mind of a musician of the mind of an artificer.”
“I’ve been hearing that sentiment a lot the last few days, if I’m being perfectly honest.”
“The perhaps the universe is trying to give you a hint,” Antareon replied. “I’d suggest taking it with haste.”
The music faded out as the song Antareon had ducked out of fame to an end, followed by a distinctly lizard-like hiss from the draconic woman in stage. Antareon quickly unslung his instrument.
“That’s my cue,” he said. “I’ll be hanging around after the party if you want to chat some more, but this has been an enlightening and delightful conversation.”
Emray looked him up and down, noticing his working hands cradling his bouzouki like a child. His eyes were warm and kind, and he was the first conversationalist aside from Marigold that she found she could stand to talk to for a prolonged time.
“I’d like that, I think,” Emray answered with a smile.
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