...Well I suppose, more appropriately, it began with a bard.
I've always been a strong believer in involving yourself highly in a case. Be smart about it of course, but I suppose occasionally you have to put your body in danger for the benefit of what your mind can gain. In this instance, I'd assumed that the risk was...minimal at best. I've faced bigger odds than a hat-wearing bard with a peculiar instrument, and I thought to myself, 'don't you think the best way to figure this out without a doubt would be to ask for a song?'
Because I'd already discovered that the music seemed to have a rather abnormal effect. I'd seen that odd blue instrument glow with what looked to be magic, yet he claimed he had none, and it certainly seemed like the source of the energies only came when his fingers were gliding over those strings. I'd already figured out his hat was an oddity. All that took was stuffing my hand in it to feel the vast overwhelming coldness lurking inside. Unnerving, certainly, but I wanted to hammer in another piece of this puzzle. So, turn hypothesis into a more solid theory, as it were. Couldn't hurt, right?
I hate being wrong.
I tugged a rather frazzled bard after me as I walked up the stairs to the tavern. In retrospect it probably looked rather inappropriate, but luckily I'm pretty sure half of Hydlaa still isn't sure I'm even a woman. Actually they probably think I don't have a gender. But, yes. I drug him up the stairs and tossed him in a room and asked that he play a song for me. And while my actions were somewhat more forward than he (most) was (are) used to, he played.
Said he could help me sleep, and played. Cordially he insisted that I actually take a chair before he began, which was good. Toppling over and cracking my skull against the ground probably would have been unpleasant. And toppling over was inevitable for various reasons, the impending paralysis being only one of them.
For something that was supposed to help me “sleep,” let's just say it was a less than comforting melody. Thankfully I can recall it without even really trying. Maybe not thankfully. It's branded in my head whether I want it there or not.
“You cause nothing but trouble wherever you burn. You’re the sunlight in my open eyes, but I wont go blind today,” he began. I found myself dumbstruck from the beginning, really, just because I had no idea where this was going.
“Cause when liars lead minds with their wiles and clever distractions, I see through them.” Unnerving. Not being the most truthful person in the world, my profession doesn't really allow for me to run around spewing the facts of my work all the time. But coincidence, just coincidence. Moving on.
“And I’ve got experience dealing with repeat offenders, they swing from my branches, like unripened fruit, found wanting when weighed. With all of the evidence finally laid out in front of me, I can almost taste a confession, a confession.”
Weeeeeeell that escalated from unnerving to flat out terrifying at the drop of a hat. Sadly he was still wearing his, which I now believe might be part of the problem. There's no way he could have gone on the way he did without some...some knowledge of my past. As he played, the more he played, the more I felt my eyelids growing heavy, my limbs turn to lead. My tongue was lodged against the roof of my mouth and growing thicker, as if I'd been drugged. Otherwise I'd have told him to stop, but I couldn't, and he kept going.
“So if the court would stay quiet for only a second, I’m pleased to make my case, and tell my story, but wait just a moment I’m passing a motion, I also am the judge, and the jury. You should worry, you should worry.”
Oh, I was worrying. Because it would seem his little dream-spell came with its own nightmares. Or rather, that it forced images of things I'd done in the past to come screaming to the light. Opinion varies on the type of justice I tend to dole out I suppose. Let's just say from an early age I've had a personal vendetta against well, slavers, killers, rapists, that whole lot of society's filth. And sure, I've knocked off a few (29) of them, plucked them off the list of Yliakum's most wanted, what have you. I like to think I've helped a lot of people! I don't have a problem!
Shut up. I wanted to tell him to shut up! But I couldn't. And on and on he went.
“Where are you leading us? All is malodorous evil. The reddest of herrings is wearing a worrying scent. You ask if I’m serious why am I acting so gleeful? What do I want? Should you rather abscond or repent?”
I was all for absconding. I would have bolted right through that door, down the street and been across the way hopefully before that elf could catch me. Probably wouldn't have worked, but then again I do have wings, I could have tried taking flying off too. And I tried, really. Believe me I tried. I lurched out of my chair only to land in a heap on the floor. I felt leaden. And despite my signs of fear, the bard, that blasted bard, would not stop playing.
“Abscond or repent? Settle the score? No lawyer needs a spider in their corner shredding documents for sport.”
I remembered my own hands, shredding all the evidence of what I once was, a recollection so vivid I could feel the paper and the adrenaline that was rushing through my veins at the time when I ceased being one person and became another. None of it things he could have known. My mind raced for rational explanation. Azure Way? But impossible, I would have recognized any arcane symbols drawn, words uttered. I would have felt that intrusion in my mind, and there hadn’t been one. It was like he was literally forcing my own memories to tear me apart.
“Now, deciding your fate is no simple matter because part of me knows that I would miss you,
but you’re so complicated, I couldn’t pin you down, and now you’re becoming an issue.” It sent a chill up my spine. Then back down again in a volley. Still I couldn't move, and still he was just sitting there looking at me mournfully, like he was sad about the whole thing. I could barely keep my damned eyes open.
“Little thief on the run, I’m a witch hunt of one, and the very first question I’ll ask in your interrogation was all of it, everything, just one big game? And if so was it luck of the throw, your misrepresentation? And subsequent incrimination, incrimination.”
No, I thought, I'd been right. I wasn't a criminal. Even if there was a bounty on my head, even if my past was following me about and shrieking that I was some dangerous vigilante. They were the ones that had betrayed me, their opinions didn't matter. They'd told the killer where they were, they'd let him butcher them, the Butcher had butchered them and left them hanging in pieces from the walls...
“While I was dreaming I learned a brand new way of seeing from a fetus, a mother, but also a beast and a ghost, you ask if I’m kidding, you’re having a hard time believing. 'Am I villain or victim? Why can’t I be neither, or both?' Neither or both? It’s either/or. It’s not multiple choice you stupid girl. Why don’t you break that magic eight ball, and give a coin a whirl?”
“Give a coin a whirl. Give into the law. Confess, you silly girl.”
He let the words echo into silence. I was aware of him, of the world around me, all of it. I could hear it but I couldn't move. Sleep paralysis. I couldn't tell whether I wanted to cry or to curse bitterly, or perhaps both. Mostly the former I admit. I could see his blurry form, he looked absurdly concerned, of all things, like he didn't realize what he'd done. Then he got up and scooped me off the floor where I'd sprawled, carrying me over to the bed and laying me out where I had a moment of briefly irrational panic. He tucked me in and looked down at me, as though he was somehow confounded by my reaction.
What, did he think I would enjoy being forcibly neutralized with a song? I wasn't sure, but he seemed almost disappointed. He brought one hand up to idly run a finger along the edge of the instrument's neck, and for a moment I was utterly horrified by the thought that he'd try to play something more. Instead, he lightly swatted the flat of his hand across my face, not enough to sting, persay, but enough to knock me out of whatever state I was in. I bolted upright and tried to scramble backwards, the blankets and sheets tangling around my booted feet to restrict my movement.
“Ya fell but yer eyes were open!” He exclaimed, watching me concernedly. When I didn't answer he repeated the motion, saying, “C'mon, don't relapse on me!” and it was enough to free up my sluggish thought process to begin my panicked series of questions.
"Who are you," I demanded. "Who sent you."
“Umm... (He shall remain The Bard. You shall have no specifics from me!)... Myself?” He phrased it like a question and looked all the world like a lost groffel pup, until he added, “'spose inadvertantly Spades but I like ta think I'd have come anyways at some point!”
Of course I didn't believe him. I was positive they'd sent him, to first mess with my head and then finish me off when I was incapacitated. Nevermind that he'd just had me in the perfect state of helplessness and done nothing to me only moments before, clearly he was here to kill me. Hey, even I have my fleeting moments of irrationality. But instead of pursuing that I inquired as to who Spades was. I should have continued questioning about my own livelihood, my mind railed at me, but I'll admit curiosity was slowly swallowing fear.
“Nah ya wouldn't know 'im!” He answered by inquiries. “if'n ya did yeah someone prolly be sent tah kill ya. Not me though! Not my area 'o expertise, dakkruism aside!”
I had him by the wrist so tightly I imagine that I was cutting off his circulation. Reason returned, and I told him I didn't believe him. Such lyrics weren't a coincidence. I didn't believe in such coincidences, such chance. “I don’t know who Spades is,” I snapped at him. “And I don’t believe you.”
"Nah ya wouldn't,” he told me, frowning. “Belief tends to sorta disappear 'round Spades name even.”
“It isn't Spades I'm afraid of.” I wanted to tell him who it was I feared, and that it was standing in front of me in the form of one addled elvish twit, but for some reason the words didn't come out. He chuckled at me and said, "Me neither, two fools us!"
I gritted my teeth and spat at him, "Spades didn't sing me some song of poorly veiled threat. Who told you about me? What do you know?"
“T'be honest sometimes I jus sit back 'n let the music work through me! Get tah listen meself.” The statement was compounded with another concerned once-over, probably for my benefit, but it did nothing to assuage my doubts. I did, however, release his wrist, thinking of nothing but escape as my eyes flicked between hat and long-necked instrument and back again, unsure which one at this point posed the greater threat.
“Dun worry 'bout Spades anyways,” he told me, as though that was somehow the center of all my fears. “Though turns out he followed me up 'ere! Or mebbe I followed 'im? Dunno.” His face molded into an almost disappointed frown as I crept my way across the room, and he raises his hand to wave at me as I worked my way to depart. “Bye then ms. Evirea,” he called after me, in that same kicked-groffel fashion.
I was indignant, I confess that. "You don't know anything," I snapped at him, like a challenge, expecting to make him angry. "Nothing about me, nothing."
“Prolly not.” His tone was conversational. “But I'd like tah.”
Well, that halted me, at least for a few moments. I demanded, "Why."
His answer was enough to startle me, and send a wave of inexplicable guilt through my gut. “Seem like a good person! Good soul.”
I don't know why the words hurt, but they did, as though he was mocking me. "More the fool you, then," I told him. The bitterness, I imagine, was dripping off of my words. Pathetic really. At the time I imagined that he would wander back to whoever had hired him to assassinate me and tell them I'd be a very easy, angst-riddled hit.
“Yeh,” his words followed after me. And then he chuckled and murmured, "Clubs."
