reserved (by accident again @_@ )

Oops posted in wrong section. Will repost in Ooc.

Come just after sundown, when the day's plowing, washing, and hammering was at its end, the weary workers of Kasdella would make their way to the local pub. They ambled inside, found seats, sipped at a pint that would slowly loosen their taut muscles and open their hearts to laughter again. And every evening, a foreign halfling named Andry Laughwell would be there to aid them in that endeavor.

Andry performed for the patrons as part of her boarding contract with the innkeeper, but really, free housing was just a bonus for the opportunity to perform, to bring alive the ghosts of legend, to make all those present bear witness to the glory and heartache of the past, which demands to be felt! Or so she would say. Andry was mortal like everyone else, and needed a safe place to stay. Especially these days.

It had grown harder and harder for her to stir up the souls of the patrons. The rumors about the nearby keep were circulating the town like pollen on the wind, taking hold in their hearts and saturating them with trepidation. At first, her usual songs about great heroes coming to rescue poor villages of hardworking folk were received with sadness and anxiety. Then she tried singing of the gods, and noticed that, instead of staring at her intently and swaying along with the undulations of her lute, the people were pressing their hands together and dipping their heads in prayer. So on the last night, Andry remained in the corner of the pub several minutes past her call time, wondering what she could do to restore some life to the people of Kasdella.

She made her way over to the window at the north end of the pub and looked out over the fields and hills, turning inky blue in the growing moonlight, to the solemn wood that encircled Castle Larendale like dark parapets. She couldn't well sing of the strengths of walls built by renowned imperial builders, nor could she serenade the valor and diligence of knights. The people of Kasdella had no one who they could expect to come to their aid, no local garrison, no feudal protectors. All they had were farmers, smithies, the occasional weaver, and whatever vagabonds might wander through the inn.

Andry turned her back to the window and made her way to the middle of the room. She cleared her throat and tapped her foot against the dull bustle of the pub. She fingered the strings of her lute and began to pluck a tune whose notes floated from her instrument as cautiously as a butterfly at first, and then with the composed desperation of songbird:

We sing a song of the brave,
Nay of knights, nor lords, nor knaves,
We sing a song of the brave,
And all the hope we have gave.

Come forth, ye brave, and sing!
Raise thy glinting sword and swing!

For we are your people,
And we are all kings,
And hope to this land we shall bring.

The patrons amused themselves by watching and listening to Andry the way a wise woman listens to a hollow promise or an elaborate lie. So she bit her lip at the end of the verse, fingers plucking dutifully at the strings of her lute while she tried to think of something else to sing to the unaffected crowd...

Tia was studying divination in Cortwellin when she heard the crier speak of a village plagued by misfortune. That was pretty much all the incentive she needed to change her path from study to adventure. After all, any problem that needed solving was something Tia wanted to explore, and this certainly sounded like a problem that could use some arcane assistance. Plus, it sounded fun - in a purely academic sense - to figure out what was causing the problems and attempt to assist in it. Especially with divination being her weaker area of study, she looked forward to working on it in a field setting.

It took a little over a week to travel to the town of Kasdella. A bit longer than she expected, but considering Cele’bagar kept complaining about the conditions of their travel and how they slept it couldn't be avoided. Arriving close to midday, it seemed some of the problems hadn't quite been leaned up yet. She originally planned to settle in before starting her investigation, however such a ripe opportunity was hard to pass up. Despite Cele’bagar's protests; he rarely enjoyed Tia's spur of the moment decisions anyways.

Though hesitant - to say the least - at first, the farmers she approached answered her questions. The superstitions they spewed seemed rubbish, but Tia certainly wasn't about to brush off any potential lead just because it seemed mere legend. If she learned nothing else in her decades of study, it was that magic could make anything possible. After convincing the owner of the dead cattle to allow her to take a sample of the deceased cow's blood and obtaining that sample, she bid them farewell and continued on to the village - and further still, the inn. More information could be obtained in due time. She owed it to Cele’bagar to get a room and settle them in for the duration of their stay.

Tia finally left her room after hours of pampering Cele’bagar, settling in for a long stay, and even starting arcane tests on some of her sampled blood. Time's passing escaped her notice for the most part, particularly in being surprised that night had fallen already. Settling into a table and quickly catching the attention of a server, she placed a food order for her and Cele’bagar before turning to just observe the patrons of the tavern. More than a few of them looked glum; honestly, the only one with any remote sense of cheer seemed to be the entertainer that started singing. Even that song sounded desperate.

Perhaps a song that is less desperate and focused on current situations would do everyone wonders, Cele’bagar said to Tia using his telepathy. His tail flicked impatiently, tapping against Tia's shoulder in a quick rhythm. Tia couldn't deny that she disliked the morose atmosphere cast in the tavern, so she wasn't surprised that Cele’bagar didn't like it any more than she did.

"Good madam, do you know of the tale of Coran, defeater of B'nok the Devastator? Or perhaps the ballad of Melvar the traveling monk?" Those two songs, though not things she could recite herself, were upbeat and spoke of brave adventurers that saved towns from evil and destruction. She didn't know if perhaps they were songs the entertainer had already performed, but it was at least a good suggestion spot to perhaps lift the dark cloud hanging in the room.