Where the Art Is

by SkyP

Summary:

"Such sweet compulsion doth in music lie." – John Milton

Ladislaus No-last-name has spent most of their life trying to define himself.
At first, as a violist. Then, when the situation called for it, a traveling “Minstrel Extraordinaire”. But when he finally returns home from his days as an adventurer, he has little to show for it.

A musical slice of life, kicking off after a traditional coming-of-age story would have ended.

Notes:

I spy with my little eye…
Something that isn’t a Good Omens fanfic!

The following story is my personal playground where I can unwind, nerd out and aggressively cram my thousands of OC’s into.
(This may or may not be a cry for help. Seriously, I have TOO MANY CHARACTERS)
Maybe you’ll enjoy.

Chapter 1: Overture in A Lydian, Movement I: Andante et Pointé

“So… Wait… Let me see if I got this right…” I said slowly, as my eyes darted between the bemused faces of my travel companions.

The four of us were sitting around the campfire, as the night had drained all distinctive landmarks from the environment, bar from a tree line to one side, and to the other a single spire at the edge of the horizon.

“You guys were invited to dine with this Lady…”

“A rude lady”, Violet interjected, the flickering lights shining across her dress[1] and making her purple hair shine like it was on fire.

“Yes, a rude noblewoman!” I retorted, not knowing whether I should be impressed or exasperated by her blasé attitude.

“And not only did you give lip,” I turned to Larry, the largest of my companions, my scepticism at his tall tale undoubtedly evident in my eyes. “you also decided to court her daughter.”

In response, the imposing half-dragon just shrugged. “You can’t deny it wasn’t effective. You should have seen the look on her face once I told her that I had-”

“I don’t believe you!” I laughed mirthfully, “No way!”

“Yes way!” Larry chuckled, a deep bassy sound that I could feel reverberate in my core.

“But…” I sputtered, turning towards Althia – the last member of our little quartet – who was sat in front of me and had purposefully stayed out of our discussion. “A noble?”

“Well,” She said thoughtfully, her blue eyes staring past me into the night. “We’re not sure if she was a noble, per se…”

“How so?” I asked, my interests piqued.

“Well, there’s a difference between a capital-L-Lady, and a regular lady.” She turned her attention towards the fire, prodding the smouldering wood, and making white-hot cinders fly up into the air “I think Larry just meant the latter.”

“I don’t know”, the half-dragon said, “‘Lord Larry’, I like the sound of that.”

“More like Lord Sugar Baby” Violet teased, causing Larry to huff.

“You take that back!”

 

It wasn’t long after, that the conversation devolved into simple mudslinging, my two companions completely enraptured by this curious sort of ‘game’ they liked to play.

It reminded me of home, and of some of the siblings that had lived in Othrond alongside me.

Briefly, a wave of fond nostalgia washed over me, before a pang of uneasiness tied my stomach into a figure-8.

For the briefest of moments, my face fell, and my sight grew foggy with tears. Then – as suddenly as I had dropped control – I pulled myself together, plastering a slanted smile on my face whilst using the tiniest sliver of my magic to wipe the tears from my eyes.

On the other side of the fire, Althia froze mid-prod, keeping her eyes squarely on the dancing flames now engulfing her improvised gaff.

“I think it’s time I go to sleep.” I announced, yawning theatrically,[2] and manoeuvring myself into my bedroll. As had become habit at this point, I grabbed my leather case from behind me – snuggling it like a teddy bear – and tried to close off the relentless bickering happening behind me, before finally drifting to sleep.

 

That night, I dreamt of my mother, remembering her more clearly than I had in years.

There I was, cradled in her strong arms as she rocked gently. Her voice was rough and husky – as if she was just returning from a six-hour long cantate – but she sang my lullaby all the same.

It was a haunting sort of sound, but tranquil as well, like a deep river cutting through a shallow ravine.

I can’t have been much older than three.

At some point, my grubby little hands managed to snatch some of her greying hair, taking the strand between my teeth and suckling on it like the world’s least hygienic pacifier.

With heavy eyelids, I looked up at her. And, as her brown eyes met mine, I realised she had been crying.

Then I woke up.

 

You can know a lot about a person by what they do first thing in the morning.

For some people, it’s running. Most of the time, this just means that they’re a disciplined sort of person.[3]

For other people, it’s getting dressed.

As for me, I wake up at first light.[4] I untangle myself from my bedroll, taking great care not to damage my case’s precious cargo, stretching my back before crouching down to click open the brass clasps.

Lifting the top off the case, I slowly take out my instrument: An extremely well-tended, wooden viola no larger than the length of my arm. It’s solid spruce resonance chamber betrays a deceptively light carrying weight and the graceful curve of the sycamore scroll reveals the mark of a master craftsman.[5]

The accompanying bow had been built after my design as well – as I found it’s stubbier contemporaries limiting when playing cantabile – though the inverted curvature had been my luthier friend’s idea.

All in all, my instrument had served me well over the years, and had gotten me out of more than a few tight spots.

 

By the time I have tightened the bow hairs and cleaned the stick, I’ll usually only have a few moments to attach the chinrest[6] and clasp my enchanted, heavy-duty™ sordino[7] around the bridge. Then, as the sun leaps from the horizon and rises into the sky, I begin to play.

So too did I begin my day this morning, my cold fingers leaping up and down the fingerboard as the restless pads of my fingers caressed the smooth ebony fingerboard in an interpretative dance.

My entire body moved along, each pizzicato quarter note growing in tempo and intensity until finally dying out with a single held note – played arco in the fourth position of the highest string – that I turned back towards the campfire and came face to face with the settlement previously shrouded in the impenetrable darkness of night.

And – as I stared unblinkingly at the looming visage of the grand, Gothic church of Othrond – I took the sordino off of my instrument, clutching it and rubbing my fingers over its worn surface. I whispered a breathy prayer addressed to no one being in particular, and added:

“Welcome home, αγαπητό παιδί…

 

Welcome home…”

 

 

 

[1] Which, despite my best effort, had once again been covered in black fur.

[2] Which may or may not have caused a my companions to have to yawn as well…

[3] This is – of course – unless it’s January 1st, in which case it most likely just means that the person in question actually believes in the power of new-year’s resolutions.

[4] probably an consequence of being raised inside of an abbey all my life, although it doesn’t hurt that Larry’s snoring tends to wake me up even before that.

[5] Try saying that one five times fast.

[6] What can I say, I’m a traditionalist when it comes to letting certain hard pointy things come near my neck.

[7] Another gift from a friend… Remind me to describe it to you in more detail someday.

Chapter 2: Overture in A Lydian, Movement II: Allegro et Fugué

Notes:

Remember: Making a pun is never the answer…

It’s a question, and the answer is yes!

“It’s been some time since I saw you plucking the strings like that” Althia’s low alto made me whip my head back towards the campfire, seeing her enjoying a small part of our rations.

I wasn’t surprised that Althia had awoken before me.

As elves, Violet and her had the preternatural ability to forgo sleep, instead staring into space in a manner colloquially referred to as ‘trance’ or ‘reverie’

I shouldn’t have been surprised by her comment – even if I had been absorbed in a little reverie of my own – yet I startled all the same.

Falling back onto a snappy kind of banter, I retorted on auto pilot.

“It’s not plucking,” I said, “It’s pinching, now if I had been playing the…”

 

The words died in my mouth as I looked into her eyes, averting my gaze almost immediately. Something about Althia always made me forgo a lie[1] even before it had crossed my lips.

“Alright, fine…” I admitted. “I have been feeling a little… Je ne sais pas ce que je ressens… You know?”

My fingers stopped their restless caressing of the sordino curved wood, my hand clutching around the arrow-shaped protrusion that gave mine its iconographic form.

“I see,” Althia studied my hands as if searching for some kind of tell, finding it in the way I purposefully relaxed my fingers as I felt her gaze upon me.[2]

“When are you going to tell the others?” She asked.

“I don’t know.” I removed the shoulder rest, loosening the bow and placing all the different parts of my viola back inside their case. “Where’s Violet?”

“Just over there”, Althia pointed to the camp, where Violet’s cat had come back from its nightly expedition and had started scrounging through our bags for food.

A little off, I found the purple-haired elf, having rolled onto our half-dragon companion in her sleep.

“Long night?” I asked Althia.

“What can I say”, she nodded towards the insanely detailed hand drawn on Larry’s forehead. “She’s found her artistic calling.”

“I can see that,” I eyed the impressive linework,[3] noting the obscene gesture it depicted. “I’m just not sure how I feel about her artistic calling flipping me off…”

 

With a shared chuckle, Althia and I quickly restarted the fire and soon after, our campsite was filled with the smells of reheated, stale bread and goodberry jam.

Almost immediately, the mass of muscle and scales that was Larry began shifting, the slitted nostrils fluttering as if right before a sneeze. Then, he opened his eyes, his massive tail thumping on the ground as he all but flew towards the food.

It was only after he had swallowed his first lump and was dipping his second one into the jam, that he looked up at the rest of our faces.

“What’s it?” He said in between bites. “Is there something on my face?”

It was at this point that Violet groggy head popped up from where it had slumped down, bursting into a laughing fit that can only be described as evil.

Larry’s face fell, and his reptilian beak moved into a position faintly reminiscent of a pout. Feeling a little bad for him, I removed the paint from his scales with a simple spell.

“There you go”, I said huskily, staring deep into his amber eyes. “Much better.”

 

Even without having to look up, I could feel Violet rolling her eyes.

“You’re no fun”, she said, pulling out the map. “Where are we going anyway?”

Keeping my eyes trained on the ground, I scraped my throat, trying to appear nonchalant

“Othrond.”

“Your old home town?” Violet said.

She sounded shocked.

I nodded. “Why? Is that surprising?”

“Obviously!” Violet chided, Larry nodding beside her. “You never talk about your past!”

“What do you mean?” I asked. “I told you where I was from, didn’t I?”

“I mean… Yeah…” Said Larry. “But you never go further into it!”

“There’s really not that much to say”, I admitted. “Unless you count small-town gossip as part of my dark and mysterious past.”[4]

“But you must have known people, right?”

“Of course I did!” I said, looking at Violet’s faux-sceptic grin. “I had friends!”

“Name one.” The purple-haired mage said.

“First of all:” I responded “Ouch… I mean… There’s Cass, and Tony, and Addison, and… Lots of people!”

“Oh yeah?”

“Tell you what, I’ll show you all around town, and you can see for yourselves.”

With those words, the discussion was settled, and it wouldn’t be until much later that I would realise I had just been manipulated into a final day out.

 

The rest of the morning went by in a haze.

Every time I started prattling on about Othrond[5] my mind started to wander, my thoughts sauntering ever so discretely closer to the inevitable moment of goodbye as the day progressed.

At some point, we must have sat down in Sara’s bakery as I prattled on – most likely informing my companions about the church’s relatively recent move towards a more secular place of learning.

It was surprisingly easy to recall all the little bits of trivia that had made me fall in love with this place all those years ago, the words flowing from my mouth in a cadence not unlike a drawn out recitativo secco in an opera.

 

However, even the longest Ordinarium Missae must eventually come to an end, and as my companions and I approached the imposing walls of Othrond church, I knew our time together was running out.

My feet felt heavy and I instinctively slowed down, as if my body was being weighed down by the prospect of the encroaching goodbye.

My companions seemed absorbed in the architecture,[6] not even noticing my dawdling until I had fallen half a dozen meters behind.

Violet was the first to notice, prodding Larry and Althia until they too had turned back towards me.

Their figures blurred as I looked them over, blinking away the tears and trying to muster up a watery smile.

I cursed, a rare instance of profanity saved up for occasions where words drowned in emotional sublimity.

“I never was any good at goodbyes.”

 

The words left my dry lips like a prayer.

Through my teary eyes, I could see my friends as the implications of what I was saying hit them like a falling boulder.

I could see Violet’s lip shiver as she tried to seem unaffected; Larry looking stumped as the realisation set in; Althia giving me a small nod, subtly urging me to continue.

“I know we had promised we would stick together – and I really did love traveling with you – “

I looked at violet’s eyes as they shot full of tears, mirroring my own. “ – but every time we get into a dangerous situation and you or Larry gets hurt, I can’t help feel this… This dread that…”

I choked up, the lump in my throat solidifying into something too tough to swallow.

I nearly jumped when I felt Larry’s bulky arms wrap around me,[7] soon after followed by the other two of my companions.

“You don’t have to explain yourself to us,” he said, “Just… Promise to keep in touch, ok?”

“I will.”

For what might have been the last time in quite a while, I turned to Althia, moulding my face to look as stern as possible. “Look after them… If anything were to happen…”

“It won’t.” She gave me a nod of understanding.

Violet just punched the part of my shoulder covered by my armour,[8] taking me in a final hug before stepping away, dragging Althia with her.

 

Now it was just me and Larry, standing on the steps leading to my childhood home.

I cleared my throat, unsuccessfully trying to get rid of the tension surrounding my vocal cords.

“I actually wanted to give you something…” I reached around my neck to the small, wooden amulet hanging around it.

I held the carved spiral in my hand, the two cold beads where the cord was attached to, feeling foreign in my clammy hands.

“It’s not much but…” I took a deep breath. “This carving represents one of the clef symbols used by us musicians. There are quite a few of them, and each of them denotates a musical role of some kind. “This one’s called the f-clef,”[9] I added, “it is often used to depict the root; the tonic…”

“Home base?”

“Yeah…” Despite everything, Larry had once again made me smile with his unwitting pun. “Kinda…”

“Well then…” The half-dragon put the thin cord around his neck, the string a little short for his form so that it only got to the top of his chest. “I shall carry this with me until the end of time.”

“Goodbye, I. Ladislaus,” he teased, calling back to a misunderstanding we had when we first met, “our very own Minstrel Extraordinaire.”

“You know I’m not actually a minstrel, right?” I teased him right back.

“I know”, Larry gave me a cheesy wink. “That’s what makes you extraordinary.”

Smirking that he got the final word in, Larry swaggered away.

 

I’d like to tell you that Larry had looked back when reaching his companions, turning his body to give a final wave goodbye.

And who knows, maybe he did just that.

I wouldn’t be able to tell you.

Before he even had the chance, I had already opened the outside gate and slipped inside.

 

 

 

[1] By omission, mind you.

[2] She had a way of reading people. Especially someone she had known as long as me.

[3] Internally marvelling at how much Violet’s drawing had improved in the time I had known her.

[4] Original Backstory™, DO NOT STEAL!!!!!!

[5] Both the church, as well as the city that had formed around it.

[6] Although, knowing them, they might have just been assessing how difficult it would be to break in.

[7] The scaly heavyweight could move scarily silently for someone his size.

[8] Which still hurt, even despite the layer of hardened leather and cloth.

[9] The Baroque one, mind you...
You can leave those Gregorian ones to gather dust next to the rest of the neumes.

Notes:

Here’s a fun fact that I learned whilst researching different clefs:

Did you know that the modern treble clef/French violin clef/G clef is actually derived from letters D and the G combined?
The letter D was sometimes placed above a G on the fourth line of the staff.
Over time, the D became less and less legible as the two letters were smeared together, until finally just devolving into a spiral and a loop, getting the clef’s iconic ‘tail’ not long after.

Source: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Clef#History

P.S: GOOD OMENS SEASON 3?!

Sorry @Captoon, but Imma be dropping this fic harder than my grades after a French exam!

…

*Distant screaming coming from inside a pillow*

P.P.S: In all seriousness, I will be dividing my attention between this fic and a sequel to Tongue of Silver, Eyes of Gold, so stay tuned!

Chapter 3: Pavane senza Galliard: A Dance in D# Locrian

Summary:

The following story is a translation of an old manuscript discovered in the buried remains of an old archive. It was found in the remains of an old library, and despite some of the stone around it having been charred, the following account had survived without so much as being singed.
The archaeologists responsible for the discovery suspect magic may have been at play, but so far no one has been able to either confirm or deny this claim.

Many phrases and terms have been localised to more clearly convey the original author’s intent, and to introduce their writing to a new generation.
Without further ado:

Notes:

Here’s a hot take: The tritone (in twelve-tone equal temperament) is only the third most dissonant interval!

The most dissonant interval is actually the major seventh, followed by the minor second.

Please feel free to (try to) prove me wrong.

What could I say about the crown jewel of Othrond town that hasn’t been said already.

I could tell you all about the church’s central hall, about the organ so grand the entire church had to be remodelled to accommodate it.

I could tell you all about the library, how the fiction and non-fiction sections are divided by the collection of partitures putting even the one in Ancient Alexandria to shame.[1]

I could even tell you about the many different architects that contributed to its imposing visage – some of which I even knew myself.

I could tell you all of this and more, but at this moment, the only thing that really came to mind was just how empty the church felt.

My footsteps echoed down the corridors, reverberating down rows of closed doors and open windows.

Every few steps, the many arched openings provided a view of the oldest and inner-most wing – a respectable church all by itself – seeming solitary and small as it braced itself for the coming winter.

 

It was getting a little chilly this time of year, so it was logical not a lot of people took the inner route as they moved through the complex.[2]

Still, it felt off to walk past the northern wing, and not be met with groups of students trying to memorise the difference between Kellner and Kirnberger temperament.

 Walking past the library, I entered one of the church’s side entrances leading to the bedchambers, located in the east.

Once there, muscle memory guided me as I walked down the hall, knocking on the fourth door on the left.

No response.

I tried again, waiting a few seconds before moving to push it open.

Then, I hesitated – my hand wavering mere inches from the varnished wood.

 

It had been almost five years. Who could say how much had changed?

Maybe Cass had switched rooms; maybe Antonio had moved out; maybe Adisson had left for different – greener – pastures altogether.

The thought all but froze me in my tracks, yet after a moment of hesitation I pressed on, opening the door and stepping into my old abode.

 

I should probably start my description by doing a little expectation management.

You would be forgiven for thinking Othrond is this place of luxury and abundance – It is, after all, how we like to present ourself.

Often when meeting possible investors we show them around the imposing central hall, detailing our state-of-the-art soundproofing and our impressive catalogue of musical texts.

What they often deliberately neglect to mention, however, are the living-arrangements.

To put a long story short, they’re very utilitarian.[3]

Each room has four beds: a simple wooden construction with a straw mattress. In between each bed is a small, empty space, just wide enough to safely fit one of the larger instruments.

There was little other room for personalisation, so each room was mainly recognisable by the instruments inside.[4]

In our case, my colourful collection of stringed instruments tended to take up the most space, followed by Addison’s ten-stringed guitar. Cass, being our resident percussionist, had to borrow his instruments from the church itself, so his space was left free for the works in progress of our luthier and chalumier: Tony.

But, even after all these years, barely anything had changed. Addison’s guitar hadn’t even moved, despite her joking envy at my bed next to the window.

The only thing that had changed were the instruments Tony was working on, as what looked to be a large viol case, and a fresh plate of sheet brass stood on the two spots reserved for him.

 

I made a face at my reflection, at the tired face staring back at me through the newly smelted metal.

My hair – which had been messy at the best of times – was so long and tangled it looked like a patch of wool had started growing out of my forehead. The only part that had been left short were the sides, which still hadn’t quite recovered from the time I let Violet try to cut it.[5]

My leather armour had seen better days as well, wearing its matt, scratched up appearance with an air of busted-up pride.

Only my eyes, which had always been full of life and lustre, still shone with the same ever-present curiosity that had driven me from Othrond all those years ago.

It was only when I had combed a hand through my hair did I notice my posture, how tense it had become.

I had always been a restless kid, filled with the kind of nervous energy that allowed me to switch between mindless babbling and deep intellectual discourse on a dime.[6]

It wasn’t like I was naïve either,[7] but during my travel, I had seen the world was so outlandish – so brilliantly bizarre – that it had made all my life experiences seem infinitesimal in comparison.

It made me want to soak up any and all new information like a sponge, and my new posture reflected that.

My arms had gained in definition, making them seem a little less like two strands of cooked spaghetti and more like they belonged to someone used to roughing it.

All ten of my fingers moved and halted periodically, as if driven by some unseen mechanism.

My reflection’s bright purple eyes darted over my face, as if scared to let even a single scrap of information escape my grasp.[8]

 

The door behind me shot open, revealing a thickset tiefling only a few years younger than I was, a shock of curly white hair and pale blue eyes standing in contrast against his scarlet skin.

A pair of dark horns curled behind his ears, disappearing into his almost angelic curls, as his mouth fell open at the sight of me.

He quickly recovered, putting on a patient smile that would have made him fit right in with customer’s service.

“Can I help you?” The cambion asked, his tone of voice as sweet as honey as his eyes stared holes into my face.

“Hi”, I said, a proverbial lightbulb igniting in my head. “You’re that Durante kid… Charles, right?”

His posture seemed to relax a little, looking me up and down as if trying to place me. “Do we know each other?”

I placed my hand on my chest in mock offence, making sure to keep smiling as to not sour the conversation.

“I’m Ladislaus…” Then, when that didn’t seem to ring a bell. “We were in a section together, you played the violone, I played the-”

“Da gamba,” a seemingly genuine smile broke through on the violonist’s face. “I remember! You were on the seat in front of me, right?”

“Right,” I nodded, “although I have moved to a viola since then.”

“Which one?” Charles’ icy-blue eyes lit up with near-aggressive curiosity. “The d’amore, or the pomposa, or maybe th-”

“No…” I said, my voice chipped. “Just… The viola.”

 

Seeing how that didn’t really seem to explain much, I graciously opened the case on my back, placing my instrument on the nearest bed before I did so.

Charles jumped at the occasion, bodily tracing the instrument’s delicate lines with his shovel-like hands.

Then – once Charles had traced his finger all the way across the curved back, over the slender neck and down the stylish curls – he turned his gaze to meet mine, his eyes seeming to stare right through me as he considered the qualities of my instrument.

I found myself instinctually bending forwards, finding myself – to my own annoyance – to be hanging on to his every word, even before he had started talking.

Finally his eyes seemed to refocus back to me.

He took a deep breath, as if preparing to go off on a massive speech, and…

 

“It’s a little small, isn’t it?”

“excuse me?”

“The fingerboard”, he clarified, “Why isn’t it bigger?”

“I feel it’s plenty big.” I said, becoming increasingly annoyed, but trying my darndest to remain cordial.

“I mean…” The hellspawn started guesstimating the instrument’s – my instrument’s width with his bare hands. “It’s what, five centimetres?”

“five and a half…”[9] I all but grumbled.

“So… Half a dozen.” He had turned the instrument around and started fiddling with the shoulder rest now. “Is that really wide enough?”

“It is without all the excess strings”, I said, referring to one of the many differences that set our instruments apart.

“Still”, Charles said, “Seems impractical…”

“Look”, I said, “As much as I’d love to trade double entendres with you, I think I’ll leave you with your instrument”, I nodded towards the case I had seen standing next to Cass’ bed, reasonably confident this was the reason why Charles had come into the room in the first place.

“I’m going to see if Tony is in his workshop”, I said, putting my instrument back into its case.

I stepped out of the room and once again set off to wander the halls.

 

[1] Also, this one hasn’t burned down yet, so there’s that.

[2] Perhaps a little paradoxically, the outer route is the one devoid of windows: The solid walls protecting us from the elements.

[3] You could even say ‘Spartan’, if you were feeling hyperbolic.

[4] We hadn’t had an instrument go missing in quite some time, but leaving an instrument out in the open is not exactly a risk many musicians are willing to take.

[5] It might not have been my brightest moment, but in my defence: I was desperate!

[6] For bonus cool points, I could even boast a bilingual upbringing to make a conversation even more inimitable.

[7] Even here in Othrond, we all know the stereotypes people liked to attach to bards.

[8] My friends would probably tell me I was being overcritical, or that I was only describing my worst qualities in hyperbole.

I would tell them they should write their own story if they disagreed with mine, then enthusiastically refer them to all the sources that helped me get into literature.

[9] When measured at the nut.

Notes:

Why does Antonio have a random sheet of metal lying around in his room, you ask?

…

That’s not the setup to a metal based music-pun, I genuinely don’t know either.

 

Something, something, superstition, something, something, musicians amirite

 

P.S. What is the collective noun for ‘player of a viol’?
Violist is confusing because of the viola, fiddler is confusing because of slang, joueur the viole is an entirely different language altogether.

… And don’t even get me started on the language barrier…

TL;DR English is complicated, and music theory hates foreigners! /hyperbole

Edit (16-02-24): Turns out Baroque guitars don't have quite as many strings as I thought, so I removed two from Addison's guitar.

Chapter 4: Corrente (Des Courante Italien) in E Melodic Major

Notes:

Apparently, this fic is a suite now.
I’d tell you I don’t make the rules, but then again, rules are overrated.

I was about a third of the way to the location of workshops – located in the far side of the Southern wing – when I turned a corner and was suddenly met with a door swinging open towards me.

I jumped backwards, just about preventing the door from colliding with my face.

It swung shut, inches from my nose again, and I was met with a familiar face set atop a body that was noticeably shorter than mine in stature.

From the top of her head, a stream of golden curls cascaded down to below her shoulders. Her large blue eyes and long lashes were accentuated with a thin layer of makeup, that – along with her round face and the blush on her cheeks – seemed purposefully designed to make people underestimate her intelligence.

“Addison”, I said to my sister, still as fond of stating the obvious as ever.

She was dressed in her usual, casual clothes, the self-embraided[1] jacket hewn roughly – the interweaving threads sometimes skipping three threads at a time – which was to be expect, as Addison Matelart[2] had never been known for her patience.

 

“Ladislaus, as I live and breathe…” The small guitarist looked me up and down, and punched me on the shoulder – right where Violet had done the same. “You look like shit.”

“Thanks”, I said dryly, “If I look anything like how I feel, that’s putting it mildly…”

“You know it”, She gave me a conspiratory wink. “It’s good to have you back.”

“It’s good to be back” I gave her a well-practiced smile, falling back into our familiar cadence. “How’s Jack?”

“We’re still going strong”, she jutted her chin forwards as if daring me to contest her claim.

“Really?” I smiled sheepishly. “I guess that means I owe Cass some money…”

“Yeah, you do.” She radiated Schadenfreude. “Speaking off…”

She craned her neck back towards the open practice room she had come from, proving her superb acting skills by crying “Guys, I think you should come take a look at this” – even managing to put a little vibrato in her speaking voice, before stepping away from the door and putting a finger to her lips.

 

From the other side of the door, I could hear lumbering footsteps, as an equally familiar baritone rang out. “Please, Addison, you’re going to have to do better than…”

The door swung open, revealing none other than Antony Menzel, the second human in our brotherhood[3] – Addison being the other.

“… That…” He finished his sentence absentmindedly, before enveloping me in a big, tight hug.

Tony had been one of the newest addition to our room, although he had quickly grown into his role as the oldest brother. He had been the strong, silent type, wise beyond his years and built like an ox, but you should see him whenever he gets going about the minutia of music theory.[4]

The two of us kind of looked alike. We could have been biological half-brothers, although his skin had always been a shade darker than mine, and his eyes so brown they looked black.

I had missed being hugged by him, the touch of his soft body and simple, not-at-all-fashionable clothes feeling oddly nostalgic in their uniform familiarity.

He stepped back, still holding me in his arms, before ruffling my hair with his hands.

“Now don’t you go running away again!” He said, mimicking our church’s Πηγή.[5]

“That’s a terrible impression”, I said. “Besides, Fautrix would never say that!”

“That may be so”, Tony chuckled, “But you recognised it, didn’t you?”

In response, I just shot my sister a glance, who just rolled her eyes at us.

 

“What’s taking you so long?”, yet another voice came from inside the small practice room, a tenor this time.

“Come and see for yourself!”

Sure enough, the door flung open, and out shot the lanky figure of Cass Laner rushing to envelope me in a hug.

He had always been the brother I had been closest to, both in age and in spirit. He was actually a few centimetres shorter than me,[6] except for the frosted red tips of his spiky hair, which popped up above my own.

Everything about him was angular, from the slightly crooked legs to his ears, which were pointy just like mine. Despite those ears, no one would mistake Cass for a half-elf – his pale blue skin made sure of that.

“Wow”, I joked, “is there someone else you’re hiding in there or are you still waiting for the rest of the orchestra?”

“Actually”, Addison said, “We are still waiting for someone….”

She turned to look down the hall, just as Charles appeared from behind a corner, carrying his large viol case on his back. “Speak of the devil.”

 

Charles seemed to be taken aback a little by the sight of me, his unnervingly blue eyes shooting to Cass in a questioning glance.

Then, as if just to throw me off balance, he asked: “Aren’t you going to introduce us?”

“Angel!” Cass immediately let go of me and turned to Charles. “You remember Ladislaus right?”

“Of course, long time no see.”

The tiefling put out his hand and smiled so sincerely I could almost forget that he was lying through his teeth.

So that’s the game you want to play, I thought to myself, then shook his hand and returned his sickly sweet smirk.

“The pleasure is all mine! Nice to meet you…” I paused for a second, trying to estimate how best to play this. “… Again…”

“You’re Charles right”, I said, a hazy plan beginning to form in the back of my mind, “I remember now, Cass used to have the biggest crush on you!”

If anything this seemed to make the tiefling smile even wider.

“Oh that’s right”, he said, seemingly exited to remember something about me. “You were Cass’ roommate!”

He used his ringed left hand to clasp my hand between his, The metal band around his ring finger feeling cold against my skin.

I looked at Cass to gauge if this was usual behaviour for him, and…

 

Wait a minute…

Cass never used to wear a ring before, and especially not around the third finger[7] of his left hand.

Reeling a little from the shock, I looked down at the red hands clasping mine, finding a tiny strip of brass that confirmed my suspicions.

Cass – my little brother – had gotten married, and I hadn’t been there for it.

Oh… I thought to myself, I really missed quite a lot, didn’t I?

 

“Earth to Ladislaus?”

My train of thought was briefly interrupted when Addison snapped her fingers.

“I’m listening”, I shot to attention, making a joke out of my own distractedness.

My little sister rolled her eyes again. “I asked if you wanted to join Tony in giving the three of us feedback on our piece.”

“No, it’s alright”, I said, “I’ll have to go see Fautrix before it gets too late.”

“That sucks…” Cass seemed to deflate a little. “Why’s that?”

“Probably nothing”, I made a gesture with my hand as if slapping the air in front of my face. “Just… something I really need to discuss.”

 

[1] As is the norm here in Othrond, regardless of age or rank.

[2] Yes, like the composer, and she’s not the only descendant from a minor celebrity here. It’s actually quite a common occurrence.

[3] m/f/d

[4] He might even be able to out-nerd me when it comes to areas like musical equilibration, overtones, and – his personal area of expertise – building and designing instruments.

[5] Roughly translates to parent or founder.

[6] Something I may or may not have the urge to lord over him sometimes.

[7] The ring finger.

Notes:

Reject modes, return to…

different… modes…?

But not really…?

That youth of today and their indecisiveness! /j

Chapter 5: Sarabande in F# Natural Minor (Æolian)

Notes:

Did you ever notice how few of my fics passes the Bechdel test?
Like, I can intellectualise that most of them have pretty good reason for not doing so – mostly because 50% of them only feature the Ineffable Idiots (not counting The Almighty, she’s in all of them)
But still…

It's something to keep in mind at least.

I never used to mentally prep myself before entering Πηγή Fautrix’ office, probably because I never really saw the need to.

For as long as I could remember, the office of the head of the church[1] had been open for me to hang out in, lost in a book and blind to the world around me.[2]

But now – 5 years after I last set foot inside that small, circular chamber – I could suddenly imagine what performing must feel like to someone with stage fright.

I must have stood there for nearly a full minute, locked in a fervent battle against a particularly stubborn lump in my throat, before finally deciding there’s no use in fighting it[3] and knocking on the unassuming door in front of me.

A beat passed before I could hear the telltale sound of footfalls coming from the other side of the door.

The door creaked a little as it opened, revealing a small, elderly sort of person behind it.

“Ladislaus”, my adoptive parent said. “You’ve come home…”

 

With a spryness and speed rarely seen in people of that age, Fautrix rushed to hug me, reaching only to my chest.

Internally I wondered if their hair had always been this shock white, or their stature so frail.

Fautrix was skin on bone, their wrinkled face and saggy skin betraying their old age.

They looked just like a 70 year-old human, with dark skin, and broad eyes that could only open into small slits. If I had to wager a guess as to their actual age, it would have to be over a 100.

The only hint of their celestial ancestry was their shadow, wherein light of all colours seemed to appear from out of thin air, coalescing and fracturing as if through the patterns of a kaleidoscope.

Cass had once told me Fautrix used to be a great Cleric, an adventurer the likes of which our world had never seen.

I had instantly believed him back then.

Our Πηγή had always had something indestructible about them, as if they could fly circles around a roc without so much as running out of breath.

All these years later, even though I had seen the records of his deeds with my own eyes, I found it harder to believe than ever.

 

I had planned how I wanted this meeting to go.

Unreasonably so, now that I think back on it.

To start with, I had planned to crack jokes; to say ‘Of course I came back! I promised, didn’t I?’

Those plans went out the window the moment I saw Fautrix.

 

The instant they hugged me, I could do nothing except surrender to the visceral sobs that made my whole body shake with every convulsion.

I slammed my arms around them, pulled them as close to me as I physically could.

My lungs seemed to collapse in on themselves, torn between greedily sucking up gulps of air and pushing them out into a silent wail.

My legs trembled, and my eyes seemed to be glued shut, as wave after wave of tears forced their way through every opening they could find.

I felt so empty, more than I had in my entire life.

In this one singular moment, my entire world seem to collapse before my very eyes, as all of the emotions and sheer exhaustion of the day hit me all at once.

More than sad, more than overwhelmed, more than anything else…

I just felt so incredibly tired.

 

I didn’t even notice the singing…

Or not at first, anyway…

It was a simple melody, sung in a slow ¾ time signature.

Fautrix’ countertenor seemed to reverberate around the hallways. Their well-practiced vibrato seemed to magically sync up with the returning echo, making it seem like an entire choir was putting their heart and soul into this lullaby.

I recognised it, of course.

It was the melody of home.

 

And, as I heard Fautrix sing in the language of his people, I began to sing along.

Together we sang about the Children of the Stars; about their voyage through the astral plane; how new life sprung from the wreckage of their craft.

We sang about the Chanters; those whose mere words could move mountains, and whose melodies buried the stars in the soil of the night sky.

Then, when there was nothing more to sing about, we sang about ourselves: a wordless tune that said more than a thousand stanzas could ever hope to convey.

 

I could feel my body protesting, my throat constricted and my lungs filled with tears. I could practically hear all the little tears my vocal cords suffered as I choked out the final few notes.[4]

Fautrix didn’t stop me.

Perhaps they realised how much I needed to press on, to hear the song of my childhood to its very completion, and to know instinctively that no two renditions could ever sound exactly the same.

No matter the reason why they did, after the final note had died out, I felt lighter than I had felt in months – maybe even years.

“I’m s-” I started, but Fautrix made a soothing sound, rubbing my back in that way only they could.

“Hush now, αγαπητό παιδί”, they said.

It nearly made me start to cry again.

 

And so we just stood there, in the empty halls of Othrond church, as the hours passed us by.

 

[1] located in the Eastmost part of the Northern wing

[2] Not including pilgrimages, holy days and holidays.

[3] The lump, I mean.

[4] You may be asking why I kept on singing anyway, and you’re fully in your right to.

 

There will be a select few amongst you, however, that know exactly why I did.
Those of you will know the deep, intrinsic desire to seek out an instrument – any instrument, really – and surrender yourself to the Highest Goal.

Notes:

To end the chapter here or to end the chapter not here, that is the question…
And also, I heard something about some kind of test?

I wouldn’t know, I don’t listen to stuff that hasn’t been invented yet! /j

Chapter 6: 4’33”

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Notes:

I’m sorry, I had to…

…

This deceptively high-effort shitpost profound piece of Modern Art is brought to you by: April fools’!
Yes, I’m pretty sure there are indeed 273 lines, although I might have lost track at around 250…

Oopsy…

Chapter 7: Allemande in B Dorian

Notes:

Sorry about the delay everyone, I went climbing and forgot all about upload-day!

Moving swiftly along…
Do you ever think it’s weird that some pieces are named after a regio they were never really all that popular in…

…

Yeah, me neither.

It was nearly evening when I finally stepped out of Fautrix’ office, the pointy key to my new room feeling foreign in my pouch.

I smiled politely back at Fautrix, closed the door behind me, leant back and took a deep breath.

Still a few more hours and then I can go to bed, I thought to myself, absentmindedly rubbing my thumb over the key’s teeth – feeling the sharp metal rub against my calloused hand.

I pulled myself up like a marionette, suddenly remembering the old analogy they taught us when learning proper posture.[1]

Then – just as I had finally composed myself – the kitchen bell rung, signalling it was time to eat.

I briefly wondered if I could skip the collective dinner, before my rumbling stomach made me think better of it. Still, I really wasn’t in the mood for crowds.

I started walking towards the dining hall, located on the other side of the complex.

 

I hadn’t even considered the fact that the dining hall might not be full.

For as long as I could remember, Othrond had been a lively place, abuzz with the chatter of the nearly 8 dozen people that stayed here at any given time.[2] I could hardly remember a night when more than one of the tables had been empty, and if there was, it was usually because all of the people sitting at that table had moved to sit with their other friends.

Tonight, however, nearly half the tables were vacant.

Scattered groups of Othronians cluttered together like flocks of sheep, concentrated around the far side of the room, where food was being served.

I could see many familiar faces amongst the crowd, but some new ones too: A pink-haired halfling sat next to her biological brother, a pale skinned human sat somewhat awkwardly next to a blue-eyed half-orc[3] and – right next to where Charles and Tony were sitting – sat a muscular human with dark skin and a pointy nose.

It took me a moment before I recognised the figure,[4] until a flash of recognition entered my mind at the sight of his intelligent eyes and athletic figure – honed by the many laborious hours working in the forge at the very edge of town.

 

“Jack!” I greeted Addison’s longtime boyfriend, clasping his forearm in a manner of greeting. “How have you been?”

“Good…” He flashed his pearly whites. “Well, business has been a little slow, but nothing to worry about.”

“I noticed there are less people here than usual.[5] Any idea why that is?”

Tony shrugged, some of the soup he was eating falling back down to the plate, and chimed in to our conversation. “Fautrix says it’s just the natural progression of things. Something about cycles in fashion…” He paused, looking contemplative. “He seemed to think it was pretty funny, actually.”

“And you’re not worried?” I asked.

“Why would I be”, Tony put his – now mostly empty – spoon into his mouth and swallowed. “If something was wrong, Fautrix probably would have told us by now.”

“I suppose…”

 

I smelled Cass and Adisson´s arrival before I had seen them, carrying three bowls of steaming hot soup between them, with Cass handing one of them over to me – curtsying as he did.

“Would you look at that”, said Addison. “My brother has finally arrived, fashionably late, at his arrival supper. Looks like all my good influence has finally started to rub off.”

She moved towards the table, walking past her boyfriend to sit next to Tony.

“Nah”, said Cass. “I don’t buy it.”

He moved his face right up against mine, grabbing the sides of my head and staring straight into my eyes. “Who are you and what have you done to Ladislaus?”

“Very funny”, I set my viola case against the leg of the table and sat down on the wooden bench next to it. “We were just talking about all the empty tables. Any chance they’ll fill up tonight?”

“Nope”, Cass said. “We were all waiting on our guest of honour… And Fautrix, I guess…” He added, but quickly recovered from his semantical stumble with the old: “Speaking of… How were your travels?”

“I bet you’ll have heard some amazing music out there”, Tony said, a dreamy look in his eyes.

“You wouldn’t believe it”, I said. “I’ve seen dragons, and… And briny lakes the size of continents, and these small beetle-like insects that start to glow – actually glow – like…”

I tried to find an analogy to express the sheer impossibility of that last detail. “Like tiny, fluttering stars dancing under the light of the moon!”

“What were they?” Asked Charles, only now chiming in to the conversation. “Fairies? Will-o'-wisps?

“Nothing of the sort! I even tried to cast dispel magic, but…” I opened my hands as if to demonstrate my lack of results.

“And the cultures…” I continued. “Music that does not conform to any meter; scales and temperaments unlike the ones you’ve ever heard; food that actively tries to hurt you when eating it;

I saw creatures from beyond the veil; met wonderful strangers the likes of which I had never seen; felt feelings I had never felt before…”

 

Thinking back on it, I probably shouldn’t have mentioned that last part.

As soon as I had said it, all three of my siblings started making mocking ooh-sounds – perfectly in sync.[6]

“Not like that”, I said, although I knew I was fighting an uphill battle. My siblings[7] were just like yeth hounds: Once they had picked up a scent, and they wouldn’t stop tracking until it lead them to the source.

In short: I was never going to live this down.

“So…” Addison teased. “What’s their name?”

“I’m not going to tell you squat.”

“But there is someone…” Said Cass.

“There really isn’t”

“You have to tell us”, this was Addison again. “How else are we going to sing Ladi and Someone, sitting in a tree-”

“Looks like you’re managing just fine.” I shot back.

 

Eventually it was Tony who interrupted the discussion.

“How about you play something?”

At first, I was grateful for the momentary distraction.

Then Addison interrupted.

“Yeah”, she said, “Play Cannon in D.”

“Addison Matelart,” I laughed, “I swear to the gods, I will play Bourrée in e minor, and I will butcher it on purpose!”

 

---

 

That night I slept alone.

It was the first time I had in months.

Outside of my window I could see the stars twinkle in the night sky, kept there by the milky membrane that was only visible in these rare, moonless nights.

It was pretty, in a way, the only other source of light a campfire blazing in the distance.

Around the fire I imagined my friends, trying to fall back into the rhythm they used to have before meeting me, that fateful night in Gormiroda…

I imagined Larry – Violet’s head resting on his shoulder as she snored in that endearing way of hers – looking up towards the shadowy Othrond, where a single light still shone from inside my room.

I closed the shutters with a thud.

Even through the three centimetres of varnished wood, I could feel the cold of the night worm it’s way inside, warmth seeping away through every nook and cranny like water from a leaky bag.

My armour lay in a heap on the floor, and under it lay my backpack.[8]

I felt oddly naked without it, dressed in only a shirt and breeches, and bathed in the intimate light of a singular candle.

I had to stop myself from saying goodnight everyone, that one simple act so engrained in my muscle memory it felt wrong not to have anyone to say it to.

I blew out the candle and plumped myself on the bed.

 

---

 

When I awoke, the sun had already beat me to it, shining thin rays of light through the gaps in the shutters.

A soft guitar melody graced my ears as I squinted at the ceiling through my lidded eyes, the tumbling countermelodies stirring me partially awake.

With great effort, I angled my drowsy body away from the window, half expecting Addison to be sitting on the bed next to me.

Instead, I was met with an empty chamber, stripes of light running like scars over the empty beds.[9]

Figuring that there was only one other place the music could realistically be coming from, I willed myself out of the bed, scrambling for the doorknob in the low light.[10]

Stepping out into the well-lit hall, I did indeed find Addison, sitting with her back against the door opposite mine. She had stopped playing the moment I managed to turn the knob, her instrument lying dormant on her lap.

And what an instrument it was.

It was a little under a meter in length, the soundbox consisting of two nearly identical strips of alpine spruce. The sides consisted of alternating strips of satin- and rosewood, one particular strip carved in such a way as to effortlessly blend into the neck.

It did not have a c-hole like that of a viol, nor did it share my viola’s f-hole.[11] Instead, a fractal design decorated a circular hole, located just above where the instrument was the smallest.[12] The guitar did not have a tailpiece either, just a small saddle where the instrument’s ten strings were tied in pairs, with a sideways fleur-de-lis on either side.

I felt a pang of sympathy that this beautiful instrument was looked down upon in the broader musical world, but when I remembered what prices our instruments sold for,[13] it did temper my lament a little.

 

“Good morning”, I said. “What are you doing here?”

“Can’t a sister check on her older brother?” She asked. “You slept through communion.”

“Cra–” The cuss rolled out of my mouth before I could stop it, causing me to have to course correct halfway through saying it. “Crud.”

I quickly jumped back into the chamber and tossed open a closet, finding it empty, before rushing towards my bag.

“It’s a little late to start rushing now”, she said. “It ended half an hour ago!”

Finally having found my white vestments, I splayed them out over the bed, seeing the spots of dried blood I forgot I had spilled while wearing it.

I pulled a face, reaching back into my bag until I found my only clean set of clothes – My sun-bleached blue performer’s outfit with comically padded shoulders, and the bass and treble clef stitched into the fabric.[14] The outfit was a little too formal for a regular day, but I figured I could pull it off.

“Is breakfast still being served?” I fidgeted with the buttons, before opening the windows in one fluid motion.

“I, of course, but…”

I strode past her, making a sharp left turn towards the dining hall.

“Where are you rushing off to?”

“To seize the day!” I explained, a rush of inspiration flooding through me like light into my previously darkened room. “I’m going to learn a new instrument.”

“Ladislaus, no… I can tell-”

“Ladislaus, yes!” I grabbed her hands, as if wanting to hush her by doing so. “I’ll talk to you later, ok?”

And off I went.

[1] How useful of an analogy it was differed per instrument, so your milage may vary.

[2] More during times of pilgrimage.

[3] Both of them blushing in complementary shades of red and green.

[4] Partially because of the beard he had grown, but also because this was the first time I had ever seen him within our church.

[5] Understatement of – if not the century, then at least the last couple of hours.

[6] Had I given them any more time, they probably would have turned it into a fully voiced chord, just to poke fun of me.

[7] As much as they would hate to admit it.

[8] My viola case was the only thing I had put where it belonged, in the small cubby between my bed and the one next to it.

[9] Languidly, I recalled there being something off about the situation, as if I had forgotten something. But for the life of me, I couldn’t remember what it was.

[10] Sometimes, forgetting to lock your chamber door has a silver lining.

I shudder to think how long I would have spent drowsily fumbling with the lock if I hadn’t.

[11] Yes, that is actually what it’s called. Now, get your mind out of the gutter!

[12] A rosette, I believe it was called, although I might of course be mistaken.

[13] Viola’s being significantly more expensive than your average guitar.

[14] This was in contrast to the armour I was wearing yesterday, which was symmetrical, and featured two alto clefs – the rightmost of which was mirrored.

Notes:

Bards only have one thing on their mind and it’s DISGUSTING! /j

P.S. What do you guys think of this “hard-rule” form of page break to indicate time passing?
Should I do it more often, or should I go back to exclusively using ellipses?
Please let me know in the comments!

Chapter 8: Inventio No. X in E Mixolydian

Notes:

Remember when I said this fic would be a suite…

Yeah, I lied. Have an Inventio to make up for it!

When I got to the dining hall, people were already starting to leave, and the bread baskets[1] were nearly all emptied out as well.

I quickly scanned the room to try and find Tony, but he seemed to have left already – probably towards the workspace next to the kitchen.[2]

Who I did find was Charles.

Our eyes met from across the room, and a single tense moment followed when both of us realised it would only make things awkward to look away now.

I quickly lifted my hand as a sort of half-hearted greeting – one which Charles returned – and I continued onwards, grabbing a pair of currant buns as I walked past.

 

Striding into the workshop, I quickly located Tony as he pulled a glowing piece of metal from the bucket next to the forge, a pair of tinted goggles covering his eyes.

Seeing as the metal was not glowing with the telltale orange light of brass, I figured this was as good a time as any to approach.

“What are you making?” I asked, as tony placed the goggles on his forehead and left the oblong piece of metal[3] out to dry.

He looked almost giddy when he turned around, with what can only be described as a stupid grin plastered on his soot-covered face.

“Ladislaus,” He greeted me, “You’re not going to believe what I invented: a musical innovation so revolutionary yet elegant it is guaranteed to put us on the map again!”

“Really?” I asked, my curiosity sparked. “What is it?”

“It’s a woodwind, inspired by the chalumeau, but with a few tweaks courtesy of yours truly.”

In a flurry of words and animated gestures, Tony told me all about his new innovations,[4] and – as he built his story towards an inevitable climax – I couldn’t help to feel a nagging doubt starting to creep into my mind.

“And the best part?” He continued. “It can actually overblow! Now, this isn’t the finalised design yet, and I’m thinking I’ll have to add a bell to make sure the-”

“Oh, Tony…” I interrupted his rant. “I think you might have just reinvented the clarinet.”

 

For a single moment, the room fell dead silent.

“The what now?” I could hear Tony’s voice quiver like a freshly plucked string.

“The clarinet”, I pushed through the pang of guilt I felt at bursting his bubble. “It’s a woodwind from up north, 13 tone holes, 5 keys, 2 registers, single reed.”

“And the bell?” He asked without much conviction.

I shook my head.

“Rollers?”

“I think so.”

Suddenly his eyes lit up again. “What about the keys”, he started counting the metal pieces he had built so far. “How many did you say there were again?”

“I think 5, although I might be-”

“Mine has 7”, the determination had now truly returned to Tony’s eyes with a vengeance, burning even brighter than before. “It could be a new model: The Menzel clarinet!”

“Could be”, I was still standing in the forge as tony continued working on his new invention.

 

“I’m sorry, did you want something?” He asked.

“I did have a small request, thank you for noticing”, I said. “You see, I wanted to expand my range of instruments again, and I thought-”

“Sorry, Ladi”, he said. “I love you, but no. This could be a big deal, and I really want to make this new design work.”

He gestured towards the third person in the mostly empty workshop, a bald half giant with an intense look on his face. “Maybe Trug can help you.”

 

After shooting Tony one final, pleading look,[5] I moved towards Trug, seeing the pale guy make some final adjustments to one of the holes in a recorder.

“Nice weather we’re having”, I told him, then cringed internally – making sure that my discomfort didn’t reach my face.[6]

The half giant shot me a sideways glance before turning his attention back to his craft.

“I suppose…” He said, his voice surprisingly soft, in sharp contrast to the intense look on his face. “What did you want me to make?”

“Very well…” I cut right to the case, sensing that Trug would probably prefer me to do so. “On my travels, I encountered a really neat instrument. It’s this bowed instrument, with two strings tied really closely together and-”

“I’m going to have to interrupt you there.” Trug said, and I felt my heart drop.

“Look, Ladislaus”, he continued gently, noticing my expression. “You seem like a nice sort, but I’m a chalumier, and what you’re describing seems a little outside of my realm of expertise…”

“Ah…” I tried not to sound too disappointed. “I see…

Well… Thanks anyway!”

“Sorry I wasn’t of more help…” the half giant apologised, shooting me an awkward smile.

“Oh, no need.”

I once again thanked Trug and walked outside, wondering what I should go do today.

 

[1] Which I noticed were only on half of the tables

[2] Which was largely placed there for practical reasons, namely their shared furnace. This is also the reason why the library can be found on the complete opposite side of the complex.

[3] Which was shaped like a teardrop attached to a pendulum.

[4] Including a lot of keywork, slotting neatly into six metal rings, which in turn had to be brazed onto the body with the mould intact.

[5] Which he ignored.

[6] Truth be told, I didn’t really care about the weather – and something told me Trug wasn’t exactly itching for such a bland topic of conversation either.

Notes:

I know so much about clarinets now…

And chalumeaux…

And also just forging in general.

Fun fact: the French clarinet as described in this story was not invented in our world until a little under a century after this fic will end…

Oopsy…

P.S. Apologies for my unplanned hiatus these past few weeks, my Beta reader was abroad and I did not hear it in time to announce it properly.

That having been said, I will be going on another hiatus before next month, to recuperate after a really hectic couple of months.

Bye for now, and I’ll see you around!

Chapter 9: Loure in C♮ Phrygian (comporte de la cadence Picarde)

Notes:

Time for a nice breather with absolutely no symbolic undertones whatsoever!

No sirree, nothing to see here, just a bard doing his laundry.

Thinking back on it, I suppose that morning’s frigid winds had been a blessing in disguise.

Walking along the Othrond streets, there were only a few people around, and fewer still I knew by name.

I had put my dirty clothes in a wicker basket, the plaited reeds making sure my still-bloody vestments didn’t draw too much attention.

I suppose I did make a striking figure: A bard in full regalia, doing something as mundane as the laundry, dressed to the tees.[1]

 

Still, I tried not to show my discomfort at their staring, greeting everyone I passed with a customary smile.

Once I had reached the watermill, I followed the babbling creek out of town, right to the edge of the forest.

There, I opened up my basket to reveal my motley assortment of outfits, my plain white vestment in sharp contrast to the darker reds, blues and browns of the rest of my outfits.[2]

I had not thought to bring a blanket for my knees, which I started to regret the moment I knelt on the wet bank.

There was still quite a bit of morning dew left on the ground, and I could feel it soaking into my pants, which would no doubt need a good clean soon as well.

The splashing water felt frigid as I filled my tub, and I could feel the first strands of cold creep into my fingers, even before the container had a chance to fill.

Luckily, I only had to endure the cold for a few seconds, before I could place the tub on the grass and repeatedly cast prestidigitation until steam started to rise from the water inside of its wooden container.

I held my hand above the water to check the temperature,[3] before lowering my linen vestments into the clear water and letting it soak. Then, I reached into a small pouch and grabbed a roughly shaped bar of soap,[4] using it to beat and scrape the clots of blood out of the dirty laundry.

Before long, the water grew murky, and my hands had taken on a sunburnt shade of red.

 

It was just my luck that this was the exact moment Cass and Charles came back from the walk they had apparently been on.

I briefly continued as if I hadn’t noticed them emerging from the trees, but I could see that Cass was making a beeline straight towards me.

Then, a few feet away, he suddenly halted mid-step – freezing for only a fraction of a second, causing an odd sort of half-body waver to interrupt the rhythm of his gait.

I looked pointedly down at my tub of clouded water – appearing almost like a black pit, with a ring of crimson where the layers of coagulated-blood-strands were thinnest.

“Hi Ladi”, said Cass cheerfully, all the while giving me a pointed stare – as if willing me to telepathically understand what had him so on edge.

“Hi you two”, I responded. “I’d give you a hug, but uhm…”

I raised my hands out of the dark water, flashing the pair a smile that – in hindsight – might have come across a bit more sardonic than I intended.[5]

 

I was surprised to see how visibly Charles flinched, a brief flash of panic crossing his eyes before it was masked by a poker face that was as impenetrable as it was polite.

“It’s quite alright”, he said curtly, flashing me a patient smile. “Doing the laundry, I see.”

“Righto.”

I had to resist the urge to wipe my hands on my pants, as that would certainly stain the expensive fabric. Instead, I cast a brief spell, making the blood on my hands disappear into the ether.

“That’s quite a useful cantrip”, said Charles, his voice carrying the barest hint of strain.

My attention fell towards the white cloth waving gently back and forth beneath the water in my tub.

“I suppose.”

I shrugged. [6]

“Have you ever tried casting a spell?” I asked the duo.

At first, neither of them answered. Cass was lost in thought, staring at his husband, whose eyes were trained on the bloody tub in turn.

Eventually, it was my brother who answered.

“I can’t say I have”, Cass said. “What’s it like?”

 

“It’s like…” I stared at my hands, at the ruddy-grey lines underneath my nails. “It’s like playing spiccato:

At first, there’s this anticipation: this buildup of energy and tension, just begging to be released. You lift your bow into the air, before moving it downwards, building up more and more speed.

Then, for the briefest of moments, there’s contact. Your bow brushes against the string; hairs press against catgut; kinetic energy travels up through the string; bouncing around within the soundboard before finally getting flung out into the world with a marked twang.

Then – finally – there’s the promised release: a sort of recoil that runs through your body as the bow leaves the viola; traveling through the wood and into your relaxed wrist. In magic, this recoil is the part that is the most taxing for mages, and also the part that is most often overlooked.

It’s why simple cantrips like the one I just demonstrated don’t drain that much energy, and also why spells get more and more taxing with each uninterrupted series of casts. It’s not your power that’s the issue, it’s your control over it.”

 

I looked up at my brother and his husband, a hint of a smile plastered on my lips. “Does that clear things up?”

“I suppose”, said Charles. “I do have one question, though… ”

He paused for a moment, and I was overrun by a sudden sense of déjà vu, the memory of the anticlimax during our reunion still fresh in my mind.

“Do you like it?” He asked.

“Well, I do prefer the viscerally of pizzicato, but overall I can’t-”

“Not the bowing… Magic!” He clarified. “Do you actually… You know… Like casting spells?”

I’ll be honest, this question caught me off-guard a little.

My knee-jerk response would have been to get defensive.

“Of course I like casting spells!” I’d say.

I had to…

Because every time I reached into the universe to weave a spell, there was this almost tangible conviction – like a stirring within my soul – that through my magic I was somehow reconnecting with my mother.

And don’t get me wrong, I’m fully aware of how slim the chances are that this delusion of mine is based on fact – after all, I never even knew my father, and I barely even remember my mother’s face.[7]

 

But there was more to it: In these last 5 years, my magic had taken on a new significance.

Nowadays, every time I cast a spell, I can’t help but think back on long conversations by a fire: the warmth of the flames seeping into my leather armour, and brushing past the wooden medallion pressed close to my chest.

I could feel my eyes growing misty, cursing inwardly at the bad impression I must be making on my brother’s new[8] husband.

It had already been a few seconds. Any longer and the silence would begin to drag, placing unwanted significance to a subject that was – If I’m being completely honest – no one’s business but my own.

“I…” I began, then changed course. “Let me put it this way. How would you describe your feeling towards music – and everything it entails – in a single sentence.”

I smiled inwardly, feeling a small rush of pride about my apt metaphor.

Cass seemed to get it, nodding sagely as he no doubt tried to think of an answer. His husband, on the other hand, already had an answer at the ready.

“It’s a living…” He said.

“It’s…” I stammered incredulously, unable to fathom how someone who had chosen the musician’s life for himself, would think so little about the subject. “A living?!”

“Yeah!” Charles nodded. “I mean… I like it, but…”

He shrugged, as if that was all there is to say.

 

Never in all of my years of travel, had another person felt so alien to me.[9]

“So…” Charles continued, oblivious to the slight chill that crept into my smile. “You never answered my question: Do you like it?”

“Yes I like it!” I said indignantly. “I… I-”

 

I was at a loss for words. My entire view of Charles as a likeminded individual had been torn to shreds, and I couldn’t help but wonder how I ever thought we were alike.

I don’t know what I would have said if Cass hadn’t intervened…

It probably wouldn’t have been very coherent…

“I personally think Bach is overrated.” Cass jumped in to play mediator, giving Charles and I a common enemy. “Vivaldi had much better balance in his cori spezzati.”

 “How dare…” I played along and gasped theatrically, eager to find any way out of the awkward situation I had unwittingly created. “I cannot believe it: my very own brother saying such hurtful things!”

“Plus, it’s not even a fair assessment!” Charles piled onto the discussion. “Sure, Bach’s music is inspired by the late Vivaldi, but to imply his work is nothing but imitation would be a fallacy at worst and uncharacteristically naïve at best! No, to really understand Bach’s work, you’ll need to…”

I watched as Cass dragged his husband away from me by the shoulder, Charles momentarily distracted by the sheer indignation he was feeling.

I watched them go on their way, bickering in that fond sort of way that only longtime friends and spouses can…

And hey, if Charles really believed my brother wouldn’t absolutely fall on his knees fanboying if he were to meet Bach, who was I to burst his bubble?

I wouldn’t tell a soul, although I did file that piece of information[10] away for later…

He was still my brother, after all…

 

[1] I was no doubt going to be the talk of the town, although I hoped the coming frost would halt the rumour mill just long enough for me to get my bearings again.

[2] I suppose it’s ironic that the only things that made it fit in even marginally, were the splotches of blood on it, the iconography very reminiscent of the Mother of Tribulation.

[3] The weather being what it was, I did not expect my low-level magic to have heated up the water too much, but you can never be too careful.

[4] Stars, had I missed soap! Even now, it’s all too easy to take our trade with the olive-farmers from Urugan for granted, as I couldn’t imagine life in Othrond without the luxury of soap.

[5] I suppose it didn’t help that – by showing my bloodied hands in broad daylight – I had pretty much taken any plausibility that the murkiness in the water was due to anything else than gore.

[6] I had never been all that keen on the attention my magical talents had drawn on me. Despite its ostensible similarity to playing any musical instrument, there had always been something in the eyes of the people cheering me on that didn’t sit right with me – Like a hunger, or a lust.

[7] Never mind the fact that a bard’s magic comes from their pathos, and – like most forms of arcana – can’t be passed down through genes.

[8] Well… New to me, anyway.

[9] Now, this might seem like an outrageous hyperbole, but I can assure you it’s not! Sure, I knew logically that there were plenty of musicians out there that were only in the business because their parents were, but to think someone could go to Othrond and not walk away with a sublime appreciation for the Arts, it…

 

It floored me!

[10] Read: blackmail.

Notes:

Fun fact, during the writing of this process, I almost gave the millers a last name (namely, the name Millers)
Then I remembered my main character doesn’t even have a last name…

It’s ~1750, what are they? Aristocrats?!

Chapter 10: Chaconne in C Harmonic Minor

Notes:

Yes, I know, I know: You expected me to have some weird mode in the title.
Thing is, we’ve already kinda run out of modes.
Sure, there’s the pentatonic scale, and the jazz scale, and plenty of non-western scales, but out of ye olden (Western) modes only Ionian is left.

The next few weeks passed in a blur, as I tried to settle into that lazy smalltown rhythm that had driven me away from Othrond all those years ago.

Apart from his regular duties around the church, Tony spent most of his days in the workshop, drawing schematics and trying to perfect the craft of building the clarinet.

Addison was gone for long stretches of time as well, although I suspected her unexplained disappearances were of a more amorous nature.

Even Cass was keeping himself busy, working overtime on commissions[1] as if trying to singlehandedly make up for our current lack in numbers.

That just left me as the only one of my siblings with time to spare: a position I had very rarely – if ever – been in before.

 

Learning a new instrument was out, as was tutoring at the moment, so I just borrowed some of the most infamously difficult pieces from the library[2] and tossed myself at them until my fingers had developed quite an impressive layer of calluses.

On one or two occasions, I even felt the urge to put my sordino to good use and continue playing deep into the night, like I had done back when I was young and inexperienced.[3]

The only other member of my extended family I did see nearly every day – outside of meals and the daily communion, that is – was Charles.

 

Not that our interactions were either long or noteworthy, mind you. Most of the time, they consisted of the most barebones of pleasantries.

It was as if we were reading a script, both of us having memorised the lines, but neither really putting any feeling into our delivery.

Our interactions had turned into a formality more than anything heartfelt, and we had fallen into a sort of stasis of cordiality, only really interacting because Cass would want us to get along.

It suited me just fine, if I was being honest. The two of us had nothing to talk about, nothing in common except for our place of residence and any interpersonal overlap that our proximity necessarily involved.

In fact, I much preferred it to our earlier interactions – genuinely earnest as those may have been.

There was something comfortable about the way we breezed through our conversations; something steady.

 

Life was fine…

Good even…

Absolutely perfect!

 

… But still, I couldn’t help but feel that there was something missing.

The stories and pieces that had shaped me so long ago, now felt…

Not hollow, exactly. They still had the same heart that had made me fall in love with them in the first place. But I couldn’t deny that something had changed.

 

No…. What am I even talking about? It was nothing.

 

Still, as I lavished in the final fermata of Bach’s Chaconne in D minor, my mind drifted off to my adventuring party; whether they were all still safe. A small, but insistent part of me wanted to buy a horse and rush after them.

I frowned at my own flightiness.

The plan had always been to go see the world and then return to Othrond enriched and bursting with a newfound sense of confidence, and yet here I was five years later veritably lusting after that intoxicating rush of adrenaline I was trying to leave behind not three weeks ago!

Closing my leather bound notebook – the one in which I kept all of my sheet music – I put the music stand back in the corner, before grabbing the case that contained my viola.

 

I had just exited the practice room, and was just about to go back to the library, when Fautrix approached me from down the hall.

They looked a bit tense, the little lines carved around their mouth and eyes seeming tighter than usual.

“Good afternoon, αγαπητέ Πηγή”, I said, the Celestial rolling off my tongue easier now that I had spent some time back in Othrond. “Is something wrong?”

“No, no…” They said absentmindedly. “Nothing is wrong, it’s just… Could we talk for a minute?”

“Of course!” Now I was starting to get worried. “What did you want to talk about?”

Fautrix nodded, still staring right past me into the middle distance.

“Follow me”, they said, before leading me towards their office and sitting me down in front of their desk.

 

Being sat down in front of that crescent-shaped desk always made me feel as if I was a little child again, and this time was no different.

Memories of three weeks ago ran on a loop through my mind’s eye, as if the echo of our chant had remained within the confines of this corner of the church.

“So…” Fautrix sat down on the other side of the desk, moving aside some of the piles of papers that littered the desk so that the space between us was unobstructed. “How have you been settling in.”

“Good…” I said, nodding languidly, before doing a sort of half shrug. “You know… Fine…”

“That’s good…”

It still seemed like Fautrix’ mind was occupied by something other than our riveting conversation.

“I’m sorry, what exactly did you call me here for?” I asked.

Fautrix sighed deeply.

“I suppose you will probably have noticed our current… Predicament.”

“What pred-” I said. “Ah… You mean our current lack of brethren.”[4]

“That’s certainly part of it,” Fautrix now levelled the full weight of their gaze on me, “but the full scope of the situation is much larger than just our little community.

Times are changing, αγαπητό παιδί, and they are changing fast. More and more of the nobles are growing tired of our traditions, clamouring for innovations. Innovations that dare not disturb their… Particular sensibilities.”

“Surely we can accommodate for that, can’t we?”

At this, Fautrix grew distant again. “You know, sometimes I forget how old I am, and how young you are in comparison.”

“Wha-“ I blinked at the seeming non-sequitur. “What do you mean by that?”

“It’s just…” They laughed wryly. “Well… There really are no original ideas. Even the greatest revolutions of our time are no different than those from 50 years ago, once you get down to it.”

“Then why can’t we anticipate? If we know that the world is changing, then why can’t we change with it?”

 

A beat.

“You know, maybe it would do you good to get out of Othrond more often…” They said.

Fresh tears appeared unbiddenly in my eyes. “You’re sending me away.”

It wasn’t a question.

Fautrix answered anyway.

“There’s this noble’s daughter: Geryon Volare. She has asked for our help in learning to play the violin.”

I sat back in my chair, trying to surreptitiously blink the water from my eyes. “Then why don’t you send a violinist?”

“Look, Ladislaus,” Fautrix seemed to deflate at my objection. “I know this is very sudden – and you’ve only been back for less than a month…”, they stood up and began pacing behind his desk. “… But you’re the best in your craft, and we need for this to go well.”

They sat down with a thud. “Better than ‘well’, actually… We need to somehow convince the Volares to become a patron of ours, and to do that we need someone who can convince them of our merits – not only as a religious institute, but also as an academy.”

Silence fell over our room, a sharp contrast to the near-rambling speech that Fautrix delivered.

“That’s a lot of pressure”, I said silently, balling my fists so the short nails of my fingers were digging into my skin.

If it wasn’t for the conveniently placed desk, I probably wouldn’t have been able to hide the way my hand was shaking, and I was thankful that my warm clothes were hiding the quickness of my breath.

 

Fautrix nodded.

“It is”, they sighed. “Just… Think it over, please?”

With that, our Πηγή walked from behind their desk, leaving the room and closing the door behind them.

I remained seated, until enough time had passed for the spell Fautrix used to light up their chamber had teetered out, and I was shrouded in darkness.

 

[1] I just realised: I haven’t really explained how Othrond stays afloat, have I?

 

Sure, the riches our Πηγή gained in their days as an adventurer paid for the initial construction and restauration of the building itself, but we actually have a finger in quite a number of pies.

 

Most obviously, there’s the tutoring. Othrond, aside from being a church, is also an institute where people from either noble, or musical families can be trained in the Arts – for a modest fee, of course.

 

Then there’s the commissions, which actually serve a double purpose. Firstly, there’s the money the nobles and/or institutes in question pay for our services, from which the church takes a sizable cut. Furthermore, the practical experience the hired musicians get, also feeds back into our teaching by offering a more practical experience than our books and tutors could ever provide.

 

Finally, we also accept donations, although this only accounts for a small percentage of our income.

[2] Most of which I had to transcribe to c-clef (A.K.A. the alto clef) myself.

[3] An urge I resisted, mind you… I knew better than to tempt fate again, after my youthful folly had left me unable to play for months on end.

[4] I should probably mention: technically, everyone in Othrond – bar Fautrix – is my brother. Having said that, I usually only refer to my closest friends as such, as those are the only people I actually consider to be my family.

Notes:

: Introducing my first (originally) non-Othrond related OC. Geryon Volare is an enterprising teenager descended from a long line of Tabaxi nobles, and that is all that I’m going to say for now in regards to spoilers! 😉

P.S. As of last month, I have officially started my preparatory course at the conservatory, which sadly does mean there’s even less time for me to write. I’ll try not to be forced to go on hiatus with WTAI especially, but there’s no way of telling what my future holds.
Bye for now.

Chapter 11: Passacaglia in Bb Melodic Minor

Notes:

Hiya, sorry about the delay. There’s a lot going on in my life right now, so I’m still trying to find a work/writing balance.

In other news, I had my Cambridge Advanced Exam two weeks ago!
Here’s hoping for C2!

Without further ado: da fic!

That evening, Cass came back from his latest commission in an irritable mood.

You could tell by the way his face was set; the slouch of his shoulders; the way he would chew on his lips as if trying to distract himself.

It was as if a thundercloud hung over of his regular disposition, something that was accentuated by his angular features.

Cass had never been one to hide his emotions, a fact that clearly hadn’t changed in the years I had been gone.

We all felt it, like an oppressive force reverberating through the room.

Tony’s enthusiasm – that burned brighter with every bit of progress he made on his clarinet – seemed to be deliberately kept in check during dinner, as Addison prodded her fork listlessly into her mashed potatoes.

Even Charles seemed affected, albeit in the completely opposite direction. It seemed like, the more my brother was brooding, the more his husband prattled on about any and all of the books he had read recently.

There was this sense of anticipation, as if – any moment now – something would snap.

We just weren’t sure what that something would be…

 

“… So although the prince’s oblivious disinterest might be comical at first, the nature of this story as a cautionary tale – as well as the consequences of the protagonist’s soul being sold into slavery – make him a thoroughly unsympathetic character.”

Charles suddenly halted his monologue, seemingly only just now aware that he had been the only one talking for the last 10 minutes.

“How about you, Ladislaus?” He turned his attention away from himself for the first time in minutes. “Read anything interesting lately?”

“Oh, I don’t…” I stammered, caught off guard a little, as I had been lost in thought. “I haven’t really had the chance to read much these last few years.”

“How come?” Charles asked immediately, then a look of realisation crossed his face. “Ah…”

The silence between us stretched, neither of us knowing how to continue from here.

Eventually, it was Cass who intervened, burying his fork inside his mashed potatoes in the perfect way so that it remained upright, even as he let go of the handle.

“This has gone on long enough”, he sighed.

“What has?” I asked him, shooting a sideways glance at Charles – who was suddenly very interested in his food.

“This!” Cass gesticulated at his husband and me. “This bull-headed refusal of you both to just communicate.”

“We talk!” I protested.

“No, Ladi”, my brother pinched the bridge of his nose. “You exchange pleasantries, that’s not the same.”

“Ok, so maybe we don’t talk-talk, but the important part is that we’re friends.”

“Are you?” This seemed to have really ticked Cass off. “Because you could have fooled me!”

 

“Now, Dear”, Charles laid a hand on my brother’s shoulder. “Why don’t you just take a breather, and collect yourself.”

Cass’ attention snapped to the tiefling at the sudden contact, looking sterner than I had ever seen him look.

“I’ll get to you next, Mister…” He warned.

Then, as Charles paled and gingerly removed his hand, Cass turned the full weight of his attention back on me.

“Now, the two of you clearly have history, so I ask of you: When exactly were you planning on telling me?”

“You…” I stammered. “You never asked…”

“Would you have told me if I had?”

I flushed, joining the rest of the table in studying the food.

“Figures”, Cass almost seemed to deflate. “I worry about you, you know…”

It broke my heart to see him like this: so defeated and exhausted.

“You really don’t need to”, I reassured him. “I can take care of myself.”

I held my brother’s gaze, trying to stress my point, as he searched my eyes.

After a long moment – in which time seemed to have slowed down to a crawl – he sighed again and stood up, leaving the dining hall while heading towards the sleeping quarters.

 

It wasn’t long after before Tony and Addison made their excuses, and Charles and I were the only ones still at the table.

The food, which was steaming at first, had lost all warmth and the gravy seemed to have lost its rich and aromatic flavour along with the fleeting heat.

We ate in silence, neither of us finishing our food before laying down our cutlery.

Eventually, our eyes met, and I could see my own helplessness reflected in his expression.

“You should probably go after him.”

I didn’t need to ask who Charles meant.

“You’re right, of course…” I sighed, before plastering the fakest smile I could muster onto my face. “No use in putting it off any longer.”

“Good luck…” Charles said, and I paused.

“Thank you”, I nodded, somewhat[1] surprised at how genuine he sounded. “I’ll let you know how it goes…”

 

[1] pleasantly

Notes:

This confrontation was a long time coming, tbh.

I’m just surprised Cass didn’t snap sooner…

Chapter 12: Happy Birthday in… *Checks Notes* … E NATURAL PENTATONIC?!

Summary:

NOT!!!

CANON!!!!!

Happy holidays!

Today marks the fourth year of Ladislaus’ existence as a character, as well as the third year of my AO3 account and I thought it would be fun idea to bring you all on a guided tour through Ladislaus’ IRL story

 

Please feel free to skip this chapter, as it will have no bearing on the story whatsoever, Author’s honour!

 

Still here?

Very well then, let’s begin

 

As some of you may know, Ladislaus is my very first DnD character, made the same day I was introduced to 5e at a new-year’s party!

However, something that many of you won’t know is that Ladislaus was originally going to be a prince Zuko-inspired Aasimar Sorcerer

This “Ladislaus” had been exiled from their tribe – read: cult – for rebelling against the religious order who had wronged his family by refuting their rightful rank as fourth in line for the throne

… Yeah… Very different from the Ladislaus you know today! 😅

Really, the only thing that stuck was the gender, as it is literally the authorial origin of their name (lad is laus[1]… Ladislaus) and Fautrix being an Aasimar to honour Ladi’s origins

 

Moving on to their ‘modern’ appearances, there is of course the VERY short-lived campaign that ran from March 2021 to… March 2021… 🥲

This is the only campaign actually ‘canon’ to this fic

Of course, not everything carried over. This proto-Ladislaus still worshiped Milli (back before everyone hated WOTC) and instead of the viola you know and love, he played the ever so descript ✨viol✨

One canon thing that did mark this early appearance was his overbearing politeness, along with a generous helping of prestidigitation, as the use of magic did not yet carry the same… connotations… as it does for the version of Ladislaus seen in this fic

I do however have to admit that there’s one happy coincidence that I never could have suspected could be such an instrumental role in Ladislaus as a character going forwards: his schoolboy crush on Larry

I had kinda-sorta-maybe accidentally created the stereotypical DnD Bard, and Ladislaus HATED IT! 💀

 

Moving on to: the Mesti-5!

… Yeah… About the Mesti-5…

First things first, this was not your typical DnD campaign. This was a campaign led by a DM that had read the steam reviews of Dark Souls and decided that that was the kind of difficulty he wanted to throw at a bunch of relative newbies

Consequently, we spent the first couple of characters getting knocked around and playing jobber before relenting and going all-in on min-maxing quite frankly grossly overpowered builds (who still died all of the time)

… Ladislaus died in session 1…

… during the first 5 minutes of combat…

… I am not kidding. 😭

When not playing jobber, this was the first Ladislaus to play the viola, although the church of Milil still had its clutches in the boi, which did colour some of his... Death-induced existentialisms lol

But really, the star of this show was not actually Ladislaus, but Charles Durante – who is an Oath of Redemption Paladin in this universe

You see, Charles – originally just a throwaway line in his husband’s character description – was brought into the story as a glorified guilt trip, dropping hints left and right about his fallout with Cass, brought on by Cass being overly anxious about his brother’s lack of communication

Short story even shorter, Cass went on a bender, joined the Mesti-5 to avoid his guilt towards Cass and tagged along on one of their adventures.

Big mistake.

He went on a single mission; got trapped in the Fey wilds; met some fauns; partied with some fauns; ate some food so sublime everything else in the world would forever seem like eating dirt in comparison; got back to the Prime Material Plane a week later only to find that 5 years had passed while he was away…

Yeah, needless to say that none of this is canon to WTAI, just the slight motif of 5 years serving as a nod to this perilous campaign

It is, however, where most of Charles’ fleshing out as a foil to Ladi was done, as well as Cass’ role as the ‘Cleric’ of the group

It is also where I chose to write a song for every character I played, to commemorate their lives and – more often than not – their deaths

Ladislaus got new lyrics to “a little bit of everything all of the time” by Bo Burnham, as well as “Jolene” by Dolly Parton to commemorate his deaths, while Charles got “Good Old-Fashioned Loverboy” by Queen

This was in addition to the little piece I wrote for Ladi back in 2022 which would NOT pass my quality control nowadays 😅

 

Then came a few years in which Ladislaus was only written about, never played. More about this era of Ladhistory later

 

Finally, we come to a few months ago, where I joined a DnD campaign that did NOT die the way most do – somewhere between the realisation that the DM actually needs to do stuff and the realisation that getting people together for a few hours at a time is HARD – in which I actually get to play as the boi himself now!

So far – without giving too much away, because they might read this – Ladislaus has gone from pure excitement and proactive tension, to falling headfirst from one coping mechanism into another, to leaning into the new coping mechanism as a defining trait, to overcorrecting and circling back to his original coping mechanism BUT WORSE, now with a newfound respect for Althia for playing at being the adult in a group of manchildren! (Luv u gyeees 😘<<<333)

This story is… Actually surprisingly in-line for the Ladislaus we know and love – so far, that is.

I did however have to change a few things to fit into the world. Firstly, this Ladislaus expressly worships Bragi, disqualifying them from being the same Ladi as WTAI on a technicality. Furthermore, Othrond church has been redesigned to be a Norse temple, complete with me obsessing over Norse Mythology again for a week or so.

Lastly, there’s radios now, officially destroying my strict adherence to Baroque aesthetics in my worldbuilding as a player

TL;DR: Ladislaus, singing Hot To Go? In MY 18^th century not!Italy? It’s more likely than you’d think! /hj

 

Finally, it is time to address the elephant in the room: the “Ineffable Mythology” series of fics.

Yes. Lera (who’s name, fun fact, is a genderbent variation of the name Leraj – one of the demons in the Ars Goetia) is indeed a Ladislaus, albeit a very young one.

HOWEVER… This was not, in fact, the only appearance of da bby I had planned to write.

Remember that throwaway gift from Belphegor? Yeah, that was very much foreshadowing for book 3!

Adam – now grown into an adult during the timeskip between book 2 and 3 – would have bitten the apple, then met the Almighty while tripping on demonic truth juice.

There, he would have a very meta conversation about character agency, death and moving on, in which Adam basically begs the Almighty to send him back in time to stop Warlock from dying

(long story, Warlock died… Actually, that wasn’t that long at all lol)

Finally, Adam would not have accepted no for an answer and used Antichrist powers to turn back the clock and save Warlock, the book ending with him glancing back at him and Pepper before everything goes black

With that long, drawn out context/spoiler for a story I am never going to write out of the way, the epilogue is a more light-hearted moment in which the Almighty pesters Adam for reviews and feedback about the experience of his life – Adam being Adam, of course takes it all very well – before leading him around their consciousness and showing (among other things) all of the Ladislaus AUs that float around in my brain all of the time

 

Speaking off, let’s discuss some more of them! Here are a few Ladislauses based around different musical styles/periods!

 

Ancient Antiquity Ladislaus: Lera, but Ancient Greek. Would not play any kind of viola, but would instead be themed around the lyre. His story would focus on him getting into trouble with various gods, in particular Aphrodite and Eros, and the alliances he’d forge to try to stay alive without ending up as a muse for Melpomene. Notable allies would be Artemis, Dionysus, Hekate and Apollo – although the last one decidedly more cordially – as well as a temporary alliance with Ares that goes bad almost as soon as it’s forged

Medieval Ladislaus: a lowly clerk dreaming of becoming an artist. He is eventually forced into hiding after writing his name on a piece of music in an act that is deemed ‘profane’, and starts an organised, propaganda-based rebellion against the Church. Plays the viola da gamba

Renaissance Ladislaus: a priestly scholar obsessed with uncovering as much of Ancient Antiquity as possible. Eventually sets his eyes on creating the perfect piece of Art, but learns to live in the present moment eventually. The story ends with him painting a small violet that has been nurtured back to health – a nod in the stem and spots on the leaves and everything – before finally concluding with misty eyes that THIS painting is perfect

Baroque Ladislaus: a very familiar aesthetic to all of you wonderful readers out there, this version of the story deals with him trying to keep the church – which he inherited from the late Fautrix – in the good graces of everyone as societal pressures outside of his control force him to compromise on his integrity. This version of his story follows him as his control starts slipping, being gradually replaced before finally snapping and trying to fistfight his replacement. The ending would find him being taken in by one of the people he helped over the years and reconnecting – not with God – but with the humanity of a society that still believes in His Eternal Grace

Classicism Ladislaus: a pretty basic, well-executed story about a prodigy rebelling against rigid societal norms. This Ladislaus starts out playing the violin, before switching to viola in an act of rebellion. He starts a relationship with one of his servants, before realising: hey, maybe these people should get rights as well! He writes an opera arguing this point, which – although economically successful – does not initially succeed in its overall goal of changing people’s mind. He is very down about that, but learns that progress is slow and arduous and that to hope – a goal in and of itself – is to try and fight for a better tomorrow

Romantic Ladislaus: Now THIS is a society Ladislaus would be right at home in! Pathos above everything? Romantism has got it in spades! The story itself would be centred around an unfulfilled artist, who goes through a rough time in his life and whose consequent works are seen as ingenuine and insincere – a topically ironic, yet unfortunately accurate subversion of the extremely toxic “writes beautiful ‘cause is sad” trope stemming from this era – before switching to disingenuously cheery music to great commercial success. He eventually learns to be genuine within his disingenuity, turning to satire and pantomime within his operas. The story ends bittersweetly, as the people who he was mocking don’t realise they’re being made fun of, which Ladislaus thinks is depressingly hilarious

Impressionism Ladislaus: A very exuberantly impressionistic story about someone who finds beauty in the most unassuming of places, after having reached the highest highs and the lowest lows. It is told from the POV of a curious child, and is more of a study of Ladislaus’ philosophy more so than the actual plot – which serves as a framing device for old man Ladi’s poetic ramblings, and the beauty that lies within everything

Neoclassicism Ladislaus: YA dystopia rebellion novel, but set in the past instead of the future. Similar vibes to medieval Ladislaus, but with a more collectivist overarching goal, and a more involved antagonistic government to rebel against. Very Chicken Run-coded, if that makes sense

Dixieland Ladislaus: A story which I feel in no way equipped to write, this Ladislaus would have to learn to somehow centre collectivism in a complex area of emancipation where I’m not sure what kind of message I’d even want to send, never mind how to integrate it into a story themed around recording collective improv

Country Ladislaus: A cowboy AU one of my friends drew once. Like Medieval Ladislaus, this bard is also firmly rooted in his fiddle origins, although the lack of “da gamba”-ness in this viol is something to be noted. A story based on this Ladislaus would have to deal with themes of colonialist propaganda, Wild West™ fetishisation and Ladislaus having constant pan-panics (A.K.A. PANics) about hot cowboys, in ways I also – quite frankly – do not feel equipped to handle. (except that last part, that is, lol: I can handle hot cowboys)

Symphonic Rock Ladislaus: Another Ladislaus that is obsessed with capturing the beauty of the past within a medium of today. However, this past-centric Ladislaus differs from the others in their measure of success, trying to elevate their chosen medium from the start. He starts out snooty and dismissive, until he gradually learns that there’s a time and a place for innovation, but also a time and a place for revisiting the past and that these two impulses are not diametrically opposed

EDM Ladislaus: I… I’m actually not quite sure what this version of the character is doing here… He just sort of… Appeared one day, character description fleshed out and everything. I don’t even like EDM, he’s just… THERE…

… Ironically, one of the only Ladislauses to accept that they’re a scaly

 

And with that, we’ve reached the end of our lineup of characters that live rent-free in my head!

I hope you enjoyed this very self-indulgent chapter. I might move it to after the resolution to the current mini-arc, but otherwise I just hoped you enjoyed this low-effort ramble

 

No beta, we die like the Mesti-5!

 

[1] Proposed NB alternative to lad and lass

Chapter 13: Fugue in G Mixolydian

Notes:

I won’t keep you in suspense any longer.

Although… I could of course-
*Gets mobbed by my readers* /silly

“Cass”, I rapt my knuckle against the wood of his chamber door – The same room that used to be mine, before Charles moved in. “Could I come in?”

I caught myself pressing the flat of my fingers rhythmically into the palm of my hand, and noticed with a wry sense of amusement that recognised the rhythm to be ‘shave and a haircut’.[1]

I afforded myself a slight smile at the realisation, until footfalls from the other side of the door drew my attention back towards the present.

Sure enough, Cass opened the door a beat later, crossing his arms and leaning against the frame in such a way as to deliberately bar my entry.

He didn’t say anything as he stood there, one eyebrow raised, clearly waiting for me to apologise – and apologise I did.

“Look, Cass”, I started. “I’m sorry for how snippy I was towards Charles this evening. You should never have gotten caught in the crossfire, and I’m sorry if I made you feel like you had to choose between him and me. I promise never to involve you in our squabbles and I’ll try not to-”

He scoffed.

“You really don’t get it, do you?” With a shrug of his shoulders, Cass pushed himself upright. “This was never about you being snippy, or even about your clear dislike towards my husband. This is about how you seem to be physically unable to simply face the facts and come clean about stuff.”

“I’ll admit, I have secrets”, I said defensively, “but it’s not like you don’t!”

“Not about stuff like this!” Cass threw up his hands in exacerbation. “I’m your brother for fu-”

He bit his tongue, remembering how I used to distain swearing.

I flinched at the realisation.

“I’m your brother, Ladislaus…” He collected himself. “Why do you insist on keeping me at arm’s length?”

 

“Cass… I…” I began, but he was just getting started.

My brother barged back into the room, slamming the door with such force I could hear the suspended sheet of brass clatter against the bedroom’s wall.

He emerged a moment later, holding a stack of familiar-looking letters that seemed way too small for five years.

He shoved them into my hands.

It struck me how fragile the paper looked, covered with creases, and even torn a little at the edges.

I grabbed the topmost letter from the pile and folded it open, seeing my own trembling handwriting, each poorly hidden waver staring accusingly into my soul.

I remembered when I wrote it.

of course I did.

 

It was just after we had infiltrated the Colliding Moon – a doomsday cult convinced that the only way for the world to survive the eclipse, was to burn half the population of their town at the stake.

I had, by then, seen plenty of vile things on my journeys, but nothing at quite the same scale at this.

Hordes of people were lined up in the square: lovers trying to convince each other that everything was going to be ok; a mother desperately rocking her crying baby, trying to hold back tears herself; another family huddled together in an effort to find even the smallest glimmer of solace in the face of a barbaric death.

I still see their faces, sometimes: the way the victims seemed to go pale as a grim reminder of their promised fate, but also those of the cultists – equally scared, but hidden under a mask of hysteria and fanatism.

We had no choice but to intervene, to make blood spurt from arteries and soak my vestments as my rapier cleaved through similar looking cloaks and buried itself into the scared people hidden within.

We nearly didn’t make it out ourselves, the last of my reserves already spent when Althia – who was our primary tank – went down, her head smacking against the floor as she lost control of her bear form and reverted to her frail elven self, a gnarly looking gash running along her flank.

I was vaguely aware of the rest of our party as they continued on their rampage with renewed vigour and I desperately tried to stop the bleeding with my bloodied hands.

All of these images kept flashing through my mind as I read my own words back, the funny anecdote I had written clashing unconsolably with the jitteriness of the ink.

 

“I…” my throat was raw with emotion. “What do you want me to say?”

“I don’t know…” Cass deflated, plumping down on the beds. “Anything? And I don’t mean the fun stuff, or even your obvious crush!”

“I do not have-”

“I just don’t want to watch helplessly as you pretend to be alright,” he continued, “when it’s so αστέρ-dang obvious that you’re not!”

“It wouldn’t be fair for me to-” I protested.

“What’s not fair is that you’ve never given me the chance to decide for myself.”

I sighed, sitting down next to Cass on his bed, and collecting the letters into a neat stack.

“Very well…” I said. “What do you want to know?”

“You mean it?” Cass’ eyes seemed to glimmer with a familiar spark of hope. “You’re not just saying that to placate me, are you?”

“Of course I mean it!” I ruffled my hand through his spiky hair. “Now – mind you – if I’m not allowed to spin a yarn neither are you, so none of your misguided attempts at matchmaking, ok?”

Cass pursed his lips, pretending to mull over my offer. “You’re a tough negotiator, mx. Ladislaus, but I respect it.”

He shook my hand formally. “Now, what is the deal with Gormiroda? You mentioned something about helping the druids there?”

“Kinda, yeah. Although the true story might have been a bit more complicated than my letters may have made it sound. You see…”

And so it was Cass and I started to talk – actually talk, as he would say – for the first time in just a little over 5 years.

 

[1] A ditty I had taught myself to play in a flight of fancy, way back when.

Notes:

Backstory? At this point in the story?

It’s more likely than you think!

Chapter 14: BWV Anh. 114

gbdd g a ab c

bd g g

ce c b c d e f#

bg g g

ac b c d c b a

gb c b a g

df# bg a gb g

db da c b a

bd g a ab c

gd bg gg

ce c b c d e f#

bg cg b ag g

ac b c d c f#b a

gb c b ba g

ca db a dg f#

gg g

 

gb g a b g

f#a d e f# d

eg ge f# eg d

ac# b c# aa

aa b c# d e f#

bg df# c#e

df# f#a ac#

dd d c

bd dg f# bg

ce eg f# cg

bd ac gb

da g f# g a

dd e f# g f#a b

ec gb c b f#a

gb d bg df#

gbdg d g

Notes:

Happy March 32 everyone!

Sorry about not uploading more, I have been BUSYYYYYYYY and will probably remain that way for a while.
Thank y’all so much for sticking with me and I promise next chapter will be a continuation of your regularly scheduled, disaster Bard’s, misadventures.

Bye for now!

Chapter 15: Menuet et Trio en forma-Sonata: Minuet in D Major (Exposition)

Notes:

Happy almost-midwinter!

… What do you mean it’s April already!?

The following morning, I was one of the first people at communion.

I was alone in the courtyard as I walked along the path, the morning rime making the grass appear desaturated and the ground unyielding as stone underneath my feet.

My breath formed clouds of condensation as I dawdled, taking the time to appreciate the way the rising sun contrasted the earth bellow.

Then, I entered the church and stamped my feet on the doormat – more to keep warm, rather than to actually clean my shoes.

 

The watery sunlight filtered in through the many windows cascaded through the church, bouncing against the many elaborate carvings, and casting an intricate web of shadows on the walls those carvings decorated.

Everywhere you looked, there were swirling patterns, marble vines and stained glass depictions of our sacred progenitors in their starry forms so vivid that you could almost imagine you were looking through a magic portal into the past.

Unlike the plain woollen vestments I was wearing, these deific beings were cloaked in gossamer silk, with golden decorations signifying their superhuman accomplishments.

Once upon a time, I had thought it was unfair that there were no depictions of the Chanters in our church. Now, I understood it to be a sign of respect.

The Stars[1] were kept faceless for a reason, after all, their individuality only apparent in the deeds inscribed onto their cloaks. Similarly, the Chanters lived on through their names and works, not their visage.

Perhaps it would genuinely be better to be faceless, not to be judged based on your appearance, nor even to be able to hide behind a veneer of politeness.

 

I was shaken from my reverie when I felt a presence enter the door behind me, and turned around to see Charles shivering in the doorway.

“Morning”, I greeted him.

“Morning.”

Our words reverberated through the building, even as we tried to keep our voices down.

“You know”, Charles followed my gaze towards the stained glass window, “I always wondered what it must be like to be one of the πλανόδιοι.” [2]

We paused, both of us trying to describe the visceral sensation that the old myths invoked.

“It must be so quiet up there”, I said.

“Pretty”, added the other.

“Lonely.”

“You think so?”

I shot a glance at Charles, seeing him still enraptured by the window, an odd sort of glint in his eyes.

“Yeah… I mean… What’s to stop you from going crazy wandering through a graveyard of the night?”

“I think it’s comforting”, He stated. “Why would they choose to be sent up there if not to tend to the dead; to care for your friends and family in the great beyond?”

“Maybe they feel like they didn’t have a choice…”

“And maybe they look down at us, from upon their inky realm, and can’t help but feel proud anyway.”

I blinked, closing my eyes for a moment and seeing myself standing amongst them. “… I’d like that. Who’s your favourite?”

“Never had one”, Charles shrugged. “You?”

“Μικρό Δίδυμο.”

“The evening star… Why them?”

“I don’t know…” I rubbed absentmindedly over my vestment, feeling the fabric move and shift. “I just think they’re pretty.”

 

<A/N: Add pagebreak!!!>

 

Just as I had been among the first to arrive that morning, so too was I one of the last to leave.

I dawdled as the rest of the baritones left to eat breakfast, joining up with the procession towards the exit and filling the church with their animated chattering.

My head was still occupied with the earlier conversation with Charles, mulling over the πλανόδιοι’s plight.

I’m not entirely sure why I was so effected by our conversation, but it was as if something had shifted imperceptibly in the static stained-glass surfaces and thereby with the light falling through them.

Their colours seemed… Saturated, somehow. As if our morning ceremony had somehow brought the figures back to life and returned them to their old glory.

It was silly, of course. The Stars had long since passed, or sent into space to watch over the final resting place. Still, I couldn’t shake the feeling that today – by calling onto the restorative power of the sun – we had reignited something long forgotten.

 

It was within my sudden bout of reflection that I suddenly noticed Cass standing next to me, the coloured light cast on my brother’s face making his skin seem almost purple-ish brown in colour.

“So…” He said. “You know how the midwinter festival is in a few weeks already?”

In response, I just raised an eyebrow, waiting for him to make whatever request he was going to make of me.

“How would you like to perform one of my original compositions?”[3]

I nodded, slowly. “What’ve you got?”

Almost immediately, Cass produced a small stack of sheet music, handing it over to me and watching my face intently as I leafed through it.

Μενουέτο για βιόλα και βιολον, the title read: Minuet for viola and violone.

… Ah…

Looked like I’d be working closely with Charles these next couple of weeks.

As I continued reading through the piece, I started to feel more and more begrudgingly impressed. The piece was almost diabolical in its use of syncopation and other rhythmic complexities, all somehow nestled within a steady ¾ time signature.

“What is this?” I asked him incredulously, pointing at a particularly difficult passage.

“That would be a quintuplet. It’s when you…”

I shot my brother a glance.

“But you knew that already. Point is, it’s musically interesting. That’s what it is.”

“You can say that again”, I finished my first readthrough, making a mental note to mark the implied[4] 6/8 meter hemiola in the final four bars as such. “Is there a partiture as well?”

“Sure is”, Cass beamed, although something in his voice gave me pause.

“Can I see it?”

“…”

“Cass…”

“C’mon,” my brother’s voice was practically dripping with mischief. “you were looking for a challenge, weren’t you?”

“I mean… Yeah, but…” I once again thumbed through the pages, imagining how much time my brother must have spent on the piece. “Ok, fine. But you’ll owe me!”

“So you’ll do it?”

“Yeah, yeah…” I cast my gaze upwards, inadvertently looking straight up at the image of Μεγάλο Δίδυμο: the morning star. “Any other rules you want me to follow?”

“Just one”, Cass said. “You’re not allowed to look at each other’s sheet music. Deal?”

“Deal.”

With that, my brother and I shook hands before we too went to eat breakfast.

 

[1] Localiser’s note: in an earlier chapter, these have been translated as “Children of the Stars.” However, after some reconsiderations, we have decided to refer to them as simply “the Stars” from this point forwards as we feel like it more accurately conveys the role these beings play in Othronian Astherism.

[2] A group of stars said to still be wandering through the night sky, unlike the others, who drift in a regular pattern around the earth.

[3] This was, of course, not a particularly odd request to make of me – it wouldn’t be the first time Cass had asked me to perform one of his works, after all – but the curious timing should probably have been my first clue that he was up to mischief.

[4] Implied, since Cass hadn’t bothered to do any beaming.

Notes:

Othronian Asterism, more like Othronian Asteism amirite? /silly

Chapter 16: Menuet et Trio en forma-Sonata: Trio in A Major (Development)

Notes:

You know… If I dawdle for just a few months, I can probably still wrap around to publishing the midwinter’s episode in time for Christmas… /hj

As I expected, my brother’s new piece was not for the faint of heart.

It wasn’t even that any one of the passages was impossible to play, rather it was the constant stream of tuplets and syncopations, interspersed with suspiciously non-contra-/extra-metric phrases which – knowing my brother – would turn out to be the most difficult parts to keep a consistent rhythm between Charles and me.

Worse still was how difficult it was for me to picture how the piece was going to sound in the end. Sure, I knew my own part and instrument – and I could hazard a guess that Charles’ part was anything but rhythmically dull – but I had never heard a viola be played together with a violone before, nor did it help that the tempo direction tempo di minuetto was about as specific as not giving any indication at all.

After having stumbled through the piece for the first time, I had to concede that I was getting nowhere with this approach.

I would have to find Charles.

My mind thoroughly made up, I gathered my stuff and started making my way to the door, although not before placing my viola and bow back into the case next to the old sordino that had accompanied me throughout my travels.

 

---

 

It didn’t take me long to find my brother in law, the bassy sound of his violone carrying even through the sound-proofing, though losing much of the overtones that gave the instrument its warm timbre to the enchantments.[1]

I knocked on the door from which the sound seemed to be coming from, and sure enough, a few seconds later I was standing face-to-face with mr. Durante[2] himself.

“Charles”, I said in a manner of greeting.

“Ladislaus”, Charles mirrored my laconic tone, stepping aside to let me through. “I was just about to start looking for you.”

I gave him a curt nod, installing myself opposite where he had been playing.

Despite the slight tension that permeated our interactions, I couldn’t help admire his instrument as it rested gracefully against the harpsichord.[3] It really was beautifully carved, the silhouette helping to accentuate the bold carvings of the c-hole with a broadening of the rim at each of the Cs’ ends. It looked solid, somehow, making its tailpin seem all the more slender in comparison – a stark, yet ever so evocative contrast.

I grabbed a standard and placed my sheet music on it as Charles waited for me.

Neither of us felt the need to talk much as we got ready to take it from the top, taking a single beat to telegraph the start, before playing the first 4 measures about as tightly as could’ve been expected.

 

---

 

I had to give it to Charles, the guy had an airtight feel for tempo. Even if he played his notes a little flat or sped a little during – the passages that were no doubt meant to be played as – tuplets, he somehow always managed to get back into the swing of things a measure or two later. Granted, it wasn’t as if I could sightread this piece all that well either, and it took all of my focus not to get distracted by the many polyrhythms.

In the end, it resembled something like an amateur’s improv session, if said amateur was trying to copy a soloist while never having seen a page of sheet music in their life.

“That sure was…” I started, then paused. “… Something…”

Charles hummed in agreement. “What was that one figure at measure 25? It felt like you were rushing there.”

“Yeah… That was supposed to be a quintuplet…” I felt some amount of satisfaction as Charles blinked audibly.

“What is that even-”

“’Musically interesting’, apparently.” I parroted my brother with all of the sardonicism I could muster.

“That’s…”

“… Yeah…”

“… Actually a pretty good reason.”

“I mean, I do get…” I started my sentence right as Charles finished his.

I paused.

My brother in law had once again surprised me by stubbornly evading my attempts at trying to pin him down.[4]

“Right”, for a moment, our room fell so silent you could hear a pin drop. “How about we play from measure 17, up until and including the repetition?”

 

---

 

Had it been an hour already? Because it sure felt like it had been.

Time seemed to mirror our speed as we progressing through the piece at a snail’s pace – halting every other phrase to repeat said passage half a dozen times.

Neither of us said much at first, respecting each other’s craft enough to trust the other to know what went wrong the last repetition.

Then, gradually, the dynamic started to shift.

It started unremarkably enough – a simple suggestion about dynamics after the default order of forte and piano had grown a little stale;[5] a remark on my end about intonation – but before long, we were actively discussing the piece and asking for advice.

It was as if some unseen signal had gone off that the rehearsal had come to an end, both of us having definitively run out of steam for the day, and realising that stubbornly continuing to practice would probably hinder us in the long run.

It was as I was storing my bow that Charles’ eyes fell on my sordino, his breath hitching in his throat at the sight of it.

“What a beautiful mute…”[6] He complemented, sending a warm surge of pride rushing through me.

“Oh, this old thing?” I grabbed the alto clef shaped woodcarving, rubbing the inscription on the back tenderly.

Even after all these years, I could still feel the slight ridges – smoothed out over the years by my caress – even as the words had long since become illegible.

“Can I…” Charles asked breathlessly.

I hesitated for a moment, remembering how callously the tiefling had handled musical subjects in the past, but then I studied his face and saw my own near-reverence reflected in his eyes.

I handed the piece of wood over, seeing just how small it looked in Charles’ calloused hands. I watched as his hands discovered the worn corners of the wood, mapping it out by touch alone. Then, his hands found the long-since smoothed out inscription.

“What does this say?” He asked.

“It’s a poem:

Far from bells and church

Starlings sing and flit about

‘tween berries and branch”

 

“Thank you…” Charles handed back my sordino. “For what it’s worth, I apologise for how our reunion went. I shouldn’t have touched your instrument without your permission, and I definitely shouldn’t have tried to just pretend like nothing had happened.”

“I-” I was at a loss for words. “Thank you… I suppose I should apologise as well, I know I can be a bit of a di-“

I suddenly felt mortified as I realised the decidedly indelicate language that almost left my mouth. I went beet red, even more so as I looked at Charles who was trying and failing to keep himself from laughing, tears pricking at the corner of his eyes at the effort.

“… A bit of a schmuck.” I finally said, a semi-apologetic smile unbiddenly tugging at the corners of my mouth. “C’mon, let’s go and enjoy the mild weather while we can.”

 

[1] Tony could probably explain why low notes seem to escape the pull of sound-proofing spells more easily than high notes could, but I wouldn’t be able to tell you. Something about string-length, maybe?

[2] Yes, I did confirm both Cass and Charles had kept their maiden names, although – again – I can only guess why.

[3] Charles had apparently chosen for one of the practice rooms with one of those, although I assumed that was mainly because it was closer to the kitchens where we just had breakfast, rather than it being a deliberate choice.

[4] Perhaps I had judged him a little hastily. A lot could have changed in 5 years, after all, and it wasn’t like I had known him all that well even before that.
Still, it raised some eyebrows (namely, mine) to hear a violist defend a quintuplet against 8^th note polyrhythm, after describing music as “a living” just a few weeks ago.

[5] Again, my nincompoop of a brother hadn’t even bothered to beam, why would he have specified the dynamics?

[6] Synonym for sordino.

Notes:

This was a hard chapter to write, ngl

Fun fact: the sordino was initially meant to be inscribed with a proverb representing one of Ladislaus’ core character traits, but I changed it because it turned out to be kinda anticlimactic – not to mention corny.
Let me know if you liked my poem, I worked hard on it

Chapter 17: Menuet et Trio en forma-Sonata: Scherzo in D Major (Recapitulation)

Notes:

(VERY early) Midwinter special time!

Don’t mind the title, I am sure this will be a very serious and literary piece of prose with absolutely no room for levity WHATSOEVER! /silly

[Edit: 24/07] I forgor a title...

Oopsy...

It had been Autumn when I first arrived back in Othrond.

Then – a hop, a skip and a jump later – the midwinter’s festival was upon us already.

Just like it had been in years prior, that year’s celebrations would be held in front of the church,[1] with tables set up to circle a large central bonfire.

We had all chipped in to provide food and drinks: Tony had marinated some breams, Addison was in charge of stocking up on beer, and Cass and Charles had baked a rye-anis-honey-bread-thing, which they had rolled into small balls[2] that melded together when rising.

As for me, I may have lacked the rich ancestral traditions my brethren were born into, but that didn’t mean I was to be outdone – preparing a large plate of veal saltimbocca which had just about finished marinating.

It was right when I had placed the last of the ham-lined meats on the plate that I spotted Addison’s boyfriend Jack, looking a little lost amidst the (relative) hustle and bustle.

I waved him over, watching with some amusement as a look of mild relief crossed his rugged features.

The smith’s son was dressed in his Sunday’s best – having exchanged his usual leather gloves and apron for a faded woollen doublet, once dyed a festive ochre. His dark hair had been combed into a flat side parting, which was almost successful at taming his unruly hair – save for the cowlick that ruined the clearly attempted picture of conformity.

“Happy Solstice, bud!” He smiled and gave me a friendly pat on the back.

“And to you as well”, I replied cheerily. “If you’re looking for my sister, I’m afraid she just left.”

“Oh…” Jack’s brows furrowed for a moment. “Well, can I carry those for ya?”

“Oh, it’s alright,” I wiped the excess grease off of the edge of the plate with a bit of cloth “I’ve got it.”

“Well, then at least let me carry your instrument.”

Before I could protest,[3] he had already picked up the instrument – carrying it with a reverence that even I had to admit was a bit excessive.[4]

 

We made our way through the inner hallways, having to walk slowly for me not to spill any of the juices.

“So how’s business?” I asked.

“Oh, hit and miss, you know the drill.” There was that frown again, gone just as quickly as the last time. “We actually just got a pretty big order from the next town over: some armour and a pair of swords, mainly.”

“Anything we’ve got to worry about?”

“Oh no”, Jack grinned. “These one’s are very much not made for combat, way too ornate for that – not to mention heavy. Nah, my money is on the two galls getting married.”

“Coordinated wedding swords… Are they eloping?”

He shrugged. “I suppose it might also be arranged… I didn’t really ask if it was or not, felt invasive.”

 

Jack held the door open for me as we exited into the courtyard, the cold already creeping through the crevasses of my coat.

“Speaking off, how are you and Addison doing?”

“Good!” Jack’s breath condensed into clouds as he gazed through the gate into the distant bonfire. “I mean… She has been really busy lately, but-”

“She has?”

That made Jack laugh, which made him seem 10 years younger all of the sudden. Even with the first traces of crow’s feet etching themselves into his face, it was almost hard to believe how much time had passed since we all got burdened with our respective responsibilities.

“So, she hasn’t been around the forge much, I take it”

“Tony[5] and I actually kind of assumed she was with you.”

“I see…”[6] I swept my gaze over the disparate partygoers that had shown up early – which were mainly us ecclesiastics, as well as the people that had travelled from afar to celebrate with us.

I saw Cass and Charles chatting with Cass’ mum, as well as Tony presenting his newly invented Menzel Clarinet to a small crowd of slightly overwhelmed-looking guests, but no Addison.

It was only when I turned to Jack that I suddenly realised I had been quiet for quite a while now.

“It’s probably like you said, she’s just been busy. We all have.”

 

A sudden pang of guilt shot through me at the lie… Maybe I could’ve done more to help out around here…

Regardless, I was not going to let the small detail of my scant contribution ruin the festivities. I had a plate full of meats to serve, as well as a radiant-looking Mrs. Laner to greet.

 

---

 

As the evening drew on more and more people started to emerge from the village and join the festivities, but the party didn’t actually get going until sunset, during which Trug – our resident half-giant chalumier – climbed atop the big boulder and started to play a quite rowdy number on his horn, which was backed up by Cass on the timpani, that really got people dancing.[7]

After that came an allemande performed by a string quartet, followed by a courante performed by a soloist on the spinet,[8] and so on and so forth.

Charles and I were one of the last to perform, second only to Fautrix’ yearly Preghiera Cantata.[9]

So it was that we quietly tuned our instruments during Addison’s gavotte,[10] and took stage right as people started to settle back down again.

 

My eyes met Charles’, seeing the dancing firelight cast funny shadows on his face and be reflected in his eyes.

Moving as one, we lifted our bows – his round and traditional, mine experimental and fringe – and started to play. Our bowings moved in and out of sync as the different rhythms brushed against one another in their cheeky dance.

I could see Cass in the audience, eyes wide and mouth agape as if marvelling in surrealist nonpareil. Tony was sat beside him, teasingly nudging him before slinging an arm around his shoulder, while Jack and Addison were having a private conversation somewhere to the side.

Then my eyes met Fautrix’, and a surge of pride went through me as I looked at their beaming smile.

We used our music to pay tribute to the stars, our bonfire burning bright enough to be seen from Up High.

[1] For which pretty much our entire dining hall had been plundered of furniture

[2] Or, neuten, as Charles called them.

[3] Or even just say much of anything

[4] Although I did appreciate the sentiment

[5] Who was a frequent client of Jack’s, with Jack providing my brother with the necessary metal parts for his wind instruments.

[6] Translation: Odd…

[7] Once they had gotten past a – suitably attention-grabbing, but not particularly danceable – opening of course.

[8] A small harpsichord, to put it bluntly.

[9] One of the few compositions that had survived from back when the Astral Elves of yore called Othrond their home.

[10] My enchanted sordino came in handy for this.

Notes:

Ah yes, the two genders: eloping, or arranged marriage – truly one of the cheeky false dichotomies of all time!

Anyways, it’s exam season, so you know what that means!
*cries in studying*

Chapter 18: Passepied in D# Pentatonic

Notes:

Life. /neg /hj

… ‘Nough said.

After the Midwinter’s festival, the weather took a turn for the worse. Perhaps our celebrations had made the weather finally realise that it had to hurry up to reach its yearly quota of bad weather, because – not even a week later – heavy, westward winds blew dark clouds over our heads, which quickly broke into rain.

All of us closed the shutters, using a wooden beam to keep the stormy gales from blowing out our windows.

There was even some thunder, though far enough away that it was proceded by lighting well before the characteristic roll of percussive force.

In short, it was the perfect weather to spend a few hours in the church’s library.

 

I didn’t need to walk far. From my hatched down bedchamber, I just had to turn the corner past Fautrix’ office, and I would be greeted by the Alchemy section – carefully sorted by date, with little papers to help the people who[1] could never remember if A Duellist’s Analysis of the Body and Soul came before or after Philosopher’s Stoned; Meditations on Life, Universe and the Significance of the Number 42.

When I had enough of making fun of Alchemists – which only took about a second – I moved on, past shelves full of Arcane knowledge, shelves full of Biological knowledge, shelves full of Divined knowledge, and some more shelves full of knowledge regarding every single subject under the stars. [2]

Finally it was, that I found the book stored in the History section – an old favourite of mine called Rebuilding Othrond; a memoire. On the first page, there was a beautiful rendition of what Othrond must have looked like in the Gilded Age: an unassuming stone building, built atop an equally unassuming hill.

The sight of it always spoke to my imagination, making me think about what it must’ve been like to be one of the Astral Elves.

Fautrix had once told me that Othrond simply meant town in their language: another unassuming aspect for a place built unwittingly atop a place so significant to our shared cultural heritage.

Had they known how influential their town would be? Had they hoped it would flourish? Had they wished for it upon a star?

Because it must’ve been a star they had wished upon. How else could the monkey’s paw curl so perfectly if not for the whispered desires spoken to the unhearing face of a corpse.

 

I cracked open the book, eagerly reading as I distractedly stumbled towards the nearest desk, and the torrents of rain kept slamming violently on the roof above me.

I drank in the story of how this very building came to be, from our Πηγή encountering a long-abandoned ruin all the way to the first tentative steps to building a thriving community.

I don’t think I could ever dream of doing Fautrix’ writing style justice.[3] I could never even come close to the playful cleverness of their turns of phrases, nor would me trying to copy them pack the same punch.

This little novel truly was a masterpiece.[4]

I was so engrossed in my reading, that I hadn’t even noticed the commotion happening down the hall until it had grown from a distant murmuring to an outright argument.

I closed my book with a thud, rushing towards the small commotion, where Lily – a recorder player I only really knew by name and instrument – was physically preventing the much taller Jack from entering the library, while Tony’s pleas to be listened to, went unheard.

“Please, sirs”, Lily said. “I can’t let you-”

“It’s an emergency!” Jack barked. “Let me through, I need to speak to-”

“You’re soaked!”

 

She was right. Both Jack and my brother had clearly been outside when the raging storm had broken loose, as they each resembled thoroughly soaked towels, the thoroughly saturated fabrics of their clothes dripping water all over the floor.

“What’s going on here?” I asked.

Tony turned to me, eyes wide, and breathed a single word.

“Addison…”

[1] Like me.

[2] Except, of course, those starting with the letters I to Z.

[3] Not without committing some serious plagiarism, that is.

[4] And I do mean that literally. It wouldn’t have surprised me to find that Fautrix was secretly part of a writer’s guild, and that it was through this work that they got in.

Notes:

...

Chapter 19: Gigue in E Hypolydian

Notes:

...

There was something in the way Tony had said my sister’s name that made my heart drop from my chest to the floor, where it buried itself 6 feet deep into the ground.

“Where?” I asked, the goosebumps on my skin raised all the way towards the stars.

“We don’t know. Jack heard her screaming from the forest, but when we got there…”

Again my brother looked at me with those soulful brown eyes of his. I felt the familiar itch of pent-up magic surge through my fingers, as if the red-hot pinpricks were fighting to escape my control.

“Ok…” I nodded, trying to clear my head despite the cold hand clasped around my heart. “I’m going to need three things: time, concentration, and the biggest sheet of polished metal you have. Tony, has that sheet on your wall been reshaped yet?”

“That was actually what I originally went to Jack’s for.”

“Is it still there?”

Now it was Tony’s turn to nod.

“Then let’s go.”

 

I barged through the hallway, casting some magic on me and my companions to keep us dry.[1]

“What are you going to do with it?” Jack asked while we walked.

I was grateful for the distraction. It was something to keep me from blaming myself for her disappearance.[2]

“I’m going to scry on her location”, I explained, forcing the unhelpful thoughts to the back of my mind. “It’s not something I particularly like to do, due to privacy concerns, but it has come in handy for emergencies before. I’ve bought this prism that I use to channel the image of a person through, casting a sort of magical wave through the weave that then responds to the metaphysical signature[3] of that person.”

Jack and Tony exchanged a meaningful look, which made my cheeks flush with self-consciousness.

“I’m ranting again, aren’t I?”

“Please continue”, Tony nodded encouragingly, a hint of panic once again entering his eyes.

“Of course”, I nodded sagely, trying to hide the hot mess of emotion coursing through me. “Once the spell is completed, I need a mirror to project the received image onto. Any sufficiently polished metal works, of course, but instruments tend to warp the image until it’s almost unrecognisable.”

We had now exited the church grounds, and were quickly closing in on Jack’s shop, the rain still pouring down in buckets.

I continued to rattle off trivia about all the steps in the scrying ritual, the theory behind each step, an unsupported claim stated with such confidence that I knew people would believe me.[4]

Then we entered Jack’s shop.

 

The room was largely empty. I knew Jack’s father was probably still back at home, his son having taken over the family business years ago. There was a small fire dancing in the back, casting a flickering light over the tools strewn about on the desk and hanging on the wall.

But there was something off about it, something I couldn’t quite put my finger on.

Maybe it was the auspicious absence of grime and soot I had expected to find in a workshop such as these, maybe it were the bowls of food and snacks stalled out on the table as if Jack was expecting company, or maybe – just maybe – it were all the people in party hats all shouting “Happy birthday Ladi!” that tipped me off.

And sure enough, there Addison was, standing amongst my brothers and Charles – an infuriatingly cocky smirk on her lips that I couldn’t help but fear may have been warranted.[5]

“You’re evil”, I told her. “You know that?”

“As much as I like to take credit,” she admitted, “It wasn’t actually me who put in the most hours.”

“She’s just being humble”, Jack came up and put her in a full-body hug, making sure to rub his rain-soaked clothes all over her.[6]

“It was a team effort”, Cass said, then eyed the approaching Tony wearily. He slowly began to back off as his – still very damp – brother extended his arms… “Antony Menzel, don’t you dare! Anton- TONY!!!”

The squelching of Tony squeezing himself against Cass like a sponge, was only outmatched by the indignant screeching of the youngest of my – now very wet – brothers.

 

It was only after Tony had made sure all of us were equally damp, and we were all drying by the fire – a delicious piece of cake on each of our laps – that Charles dared to address the elephant in the room.

“You know,” he prodded at his cake, carefully slicing between two of the tufts of cream. “Cass explained that you guys weren’t sure when exactly your birthday was, but surely there must be some way to find out.”

I shrugged. Truth of the matter was that it would be trivial to cast some spell figure out my moment of birth – down to the minute – but equally true was the fact that I didn’t really care.

“As far as I’m concerned, those first three years of life weren’t really… Me, if that makes sense.

That little boy, left in a basket in the snow in front of the Church? He died on the day I became Ladislaus...

I moved on…

Simple as that.”

“But your fami-”

“Cass. I need to make something very clear. You might not be a Laner in name, but you are my family… It just took me a while to get to terms with that.”

 

I suddenly became aware that all the separate conversations happening around us had come to a halt, with 5 pairs of eyes all trained on me.

I cleared my throat, but before I could say anything, Cass and Charles lifted me up and sandwiched me in a hug, gesturing for the others to follow.

Before long, we were all huddling in a pile of differing levels of wetness, the hug only broken when Tony had decided he couldn’t wait any longer, and it was time for presents now.[7]

 

The party went on for hours, the sun having long since gone down by the time we all returned home.

Jack’s house was obviously the closest, so it wasn’t long until it was just the five of us walking through the village.

The men amongst our company – having had quite a bit to drink – were walking a little ahead of Addison and I, alternating wildly between roughhousing, giggling and trying to shush each other.[8]

It was a dark, moonless night,[9] so I couldn’t easily make out my sister’s facial expressions as she gazed at her brothers ahead of her. Perhaps she was just enjoying the tranquillity, or perhaps there was something more going on beneath the surface.

 

“What are you thinking about?” I asked her.

“Nothing for you to worry about.”

I frowned. “That sure doesn’t sound like nothing”

“I…” She paused. “If you really want to know, Jack wants to make it official.”

“Oh…” I paused. “Congrat-”

Even shrouded in darkness, the look she shot me still managed to shut me up quite effectively.

“It’s probably just another temporary flight of fancy for him…”

“Has he asked you before?”

“Hm…”

I stopped dead in my tracks.

No wonder Jack had implied Addison was avoiding him.

“Wow…” I said, trying to take it all in.

My little sister, rejecting a relationship from a guy who was so overwhelmingly obviously in love with her…

“… You must really care for him…”

 

“Excuse me”, Addison whispered, turning me away from the rest of the group. “Did you not just hear what I was telling you?!”

“I know. I know. You’re having doubts. But I also know you, Addison.” I cupped her face. “If you really didn’t care, we wouldn’t be having this conversation, now would we?”

“I suppose…”

“Now, I may not be able to decide for you, but just promise me this… Before breaking that poor, smitten sod’s heart into a thousand pieces like I know you can…” 

I grabbed her hand and fenagled it into pinky swearing position with mine... Her finger felt cold to the touch, but my antics made her snicker all the same.

“Just… Think it over… Promise?”

She smiled. It felt like the most sincere smile she had worn in a long while.

“… Promise.”

[1] Granted, it was mostly to keep my viola dry, but it felt selfish to just cast it on myself and not help out the soaked men trotting behind me.

[2] How could I have missed the signs? Jack had mentioned he hadn’t seen her in a while,

[3] Or sufficiently advanced, magical derivatives thereof.

[4] Even if – nay, especially if – I had no idea if what I was saying even rang true. It just sounded true, and if that was enough for them, it would have to be enough for me.

[5] … This time… And only might have been!

[6] Addison pulled a face at that, although it didn’t seem like it had any fire behind it.

[7] And no wonder, because he got me a really cute and thoughtful replica of an erhu “to make up for the fact that he still hadn’t gotten around to making a full-scale one.”

[8] Which obviously lead to more giggling.

[9] The type of night where you could just about make out the milky-white barrier, which separated the Astral Plane where the Stars had been laid to rest, from our own.

Notes:

We’re at the end now. There's just the epilogue left!

Thank you all so much for sticking around, I appreciate every single one of you, and I’ll see you in the next one

Instead of going on my usual end-of-fic hiatus, I’ve decide I will be taking a break from Othrond, and instead moving on to a slightly better-known place to all you fantasy/worldbuilding fans out there

Bye for now

Chapter 20: Gaillard senza Pavane: A Reprise in A Lydian

What could I say about the beating heart of Othrond Town that hasn’t been said already?

I could tell you about our history; of a people long gone, living on through our collective subconscious and our art: A bohemian collection of ritual… Of literature… Of poems and prose and centuries old chants echoing through our halls.

I could tell you about the town itself, of the blazing heat of our smithy’s fire, of the smell of freshly baked bread and of the wonderful people who make up our population – each and every one of them a treasure to have met and to have known.

I could tell you about all the stars in the night sky…

Shining brighter than anywhere else on earth…

 

I could tell you all of this and more, but for now the only thing I’ll say is this:

Othrond is my home, and home?

 

… Home is where the Art is.

Notes:

The people in the old party are not my OC’s.
Violet belongs to @lily_art666, and Larry and Althia’s creators wish to remain anonymous

Also, all events will be limited to actions permitted in the 5th edition TTRPG, since that is the game system these characters were created in. Homebrew and/or home rulings will not be elaborated upon withing the text. If you want to ask for the details, just leave a comment and I’ll try to respond.