Chapter 1: Arrival to New Ta'Faendryl

Not so long ago, wandering the city of Ta’Faendryl, a cloaked form gazed attentively at the sights around him. His eyes soaked in the black marble columns, golden domed rooftops and the fading sunlight reflecting off the dark tinted glass windows of the shops and cafes that lined the thoroughfare.

Scuffing a boot, he kicked a bit of black sand packed between the cobbles, which made the streets look like large honeycombs. Attempting to not look so much the part of an outsider, he took down his braids and sought out a clothier to purchase a simple outfit in the domestic style. Then, having been intrigued by the intricate black ironwork facade of a nearby inn called “The Black Chalice”, he left the cool shadows of twilight for the candlelit interior of the tavern.

He took a room, accepting the key and making his way unnoticed up the carpeted stairway to quiet solitude. The accommodations were simple, though adequate enough for his needs and he shed his deeply hooded cloak. Each piece of clothing and other accouterments were spread across the bed linens with care as he selected the makings of his disguise. He washed and changed – even whitening a lock of his hair with bleaching paste as was the local fashion. Gazing into the mirror, he was the image of a Faendryl. His stomach roiled at the thought, but he quickly eased himself, even managing to flash a toothy smile at his reflection.

As the Bard made his way back to the common room, the name of the Inn struck him as fitting with the decor and even hinted at a noble clientele. He noted that the small, raised platform used for entertainers was bare and apparently had been unused for some time. He made his way to the barkeep amidst the muted conversation of gathering patrons. With a sly smile accompanied by a short demonstration of his skill, the Dhe’nar had secured a position as the evening’s entertainment.

Shortly afterward, a large copper-framed slate announced the presence of a bard, and he flashed a winning smile at a nearby barmaid as he took to the dais. The girl stared a moment at the stranger, her eyes wide – but then dropped her head in a nervous smile when he winked in her direction. He watched her weave back through the tables to take another order and he grinned to himself, knowing instinctively that she had flushed in embarrassment.

That evening, he brought a platinum flute to his lips and began to play a slow melody. He had meant for the tune to remain a familiar one, but his thoughts had wandered to a darker, more exotic place and his music began to drift with that imagery. The flutes allure and his tenor voice drew much curiosity, but the bard waved off his skills as those of a well traveled musician, combined with his appreciation of night’s mysteries.

In little time, the inn became rather crowded with the patrons staying longer than usual and leaving twice their normal tips. The lithe barmaid perspired delicately as she danced and weaved between the tables, entranced by the bard’s music. The barkeep himself could barely keep up with business, and his normally immaculate apron was now used more than his towel as he poured drinks as fast as he could manage.

On and on the bard played. Long after midnight his fingers flew across the keys of his flute until at last, he could no longer ease the stiffness in his fingers. As silence loomed over the common room, patrons slowly and begrudgingly began to file toward the doors.

Last to take her leave was a fine specimen of a woman, all softness and curves where they are wont to be. Her beautiful green eyes lingered upon the bard for a time with a gaze that was all calculation and perhaps a hint of mischief. She stood then, and her crimson satin gown rustled softly against her legs as she approached. His gaze finally met hers and with a coy smile she brushed past him on the way to the door. Without even once turning around, a soft lilting whisper reached his sensitive ears. “Come with me.”

Now the Bard was no fool when it came to such invitations. He took note of all detail, listened well and was convinced with little doubt that this woman was of a noble household. Shrugging his shoulders noncommittally, he followed.

While no outward disposition betrayed his wariness at every step, the Faendryl woman seemed unconcerned for her own safety. She walked ahead of the bard as if to prove he was nothing to fear, nor did she turn around to prove it was merely a ruse. The Bard rankled at that and it seemed that she felt his annoyance, for she giggled then; a tinkling laugh just loud enough for him to hear.

Upon arrival at her manor house, slaves dressed in gold embroidered white livery descended upon the pair to cater to their needs. The bard was ushered to guest accommodations, much more exquisite than his spare room at the inn. He gritted his teeth at the foolish displays of waste and opulence that assaulted his better senses. As he reached his room, he picked up an enameled mirror and stared a bit at his reflection. When he placed the mirror back down again, he noticed pieces had flaked off – revealing the scruff wood beneath. He thought for a moment on the metaphors of the image, but his attention became distracted by a knock on the door.