Major Interaction:
@HokumA look of confusion overtook Ren's face: brows furrowing and teeth nibbling on his bottom lip in thought. Try as he might to throttle his memory in order to get a logic from her accusation, his mind drew blank before Ren shook his head at the woman. He really had no idea of what she was talking about. Ren was rather, er, occupied the last few hours, and when he began his hours as a musician, he did not catch sight of this lass until that recent moment that she went down and isolated herself from the others. The remark did jab a bit at his core, but Ren attributed this kind of reaction to a lack of trust on her part. Whatever happened to this poor soul had shattered whatever trust she had for the world. Her earlier comment of needing no friends amplified Ren's musings. It was always easy to depend on oneself: no liabilities, no concern for others-- just you and whatever works your hands wrought.
But, it was utterly limited. You could accomplish things fast, but speed did not equate to reach. Ren felt a pang of pity for this woman, because from how she viewed the world, everything she grabbed might just slip through her fingers like sands in the deserts of Akripola. There was a reason why there were gaps between the fingers of men: it was a sign that one could not fill the spaces alone. A sad smile replaced the frown as Ren leaned against the chair.
His hand went to the sling bag he kept near his waist, and, after pulling out a piece of crumpled parchment, the musician began scribbling haphazard letters unto the sheet. He set down the quill, causing a small blot of black ink to run beside the small ink canister precariously set beside the edge of the table. Ren pushed the parchment to the woman's partition as a lone glint of light reflected upon the midnight ink written on the paper: 'is it so strange to lend a hand without asking for payment?'
Ren tilted his head, returning her inquisitive gaze with a sincere and unflinching look. A silent chuckle parted his lips before he took his flute and placing the embouchure upon his mouth. Purple orbs deigned to cast one last look at her before they closed in contemplation. Soon, Ren's skilled fingers danced over the holes on the flute as his chest rose when he blew air. Soft melodies seeped from the flute as it joined the cacophony of tunes within the tavern. The melody sung the tale of a man from the Merchant Union of Akripola. Though wealthy, the man saw the plight of the people. So, he left his glory behind and journeyed to the different lands where he used his riches to help out the poor who suffered under the heels of their masters.
How much be the weight of a poor man's life?
The song I hear in Uhrda's market stalls
Do we weigh the grief of a man who lost his wife
Or the cries of a child like the crow's calls?
Veer away from golden home, farther from Uhrda
To see winding shadows over dark Akripola
Ren sang the song in the recesses of his mind, the hum of his flute never abating in its passion and intensity. However, it soon stopped. Ren lowered the flute in favor of looking at the woman once more. His tongue darted out to moisten his lips as he set the flute down on the table. He raised his hands pointing to her first before using his index and middle to point to his own eyes; then, he gestured to the environment around them, following it up with a shake of his hands to indicate that whatever she was looking for, she would never find it here in the tavern. If anything, the wide variety of individuals gathered in this tavern meant that they were also hunting for something beyond Ren's comprehension. Nadska was an uneventful place: literally, no new happenings ever occurred to this town. Everyone in this tavern had little to no knowledge of anything that ever happened in Nadska, and they made the mistake of conversing with fellow ignoramuses when it came to finding information regarding the town. As it seemed, even this lass was trying to pick up information by listening in on the conversations around her.
Suddenly, Ren placed both of his hands, palms up, on the table as he bowed his head. This was a tell-tale sign that the person meant no harm and malice. The lad figured that this was a good gesture to start with if he was to help her open up to him. He wondered why he was so adamant in helping her out, but perhaps it was the cry for help that he saw in her. Ren had no idea, but, in any case, as long as she was not opposed to fighting the dead, it would work out in the end. The undead attacks reached the ears of Nadska a few weeks back, and already rumors of ruination proliferated around the village. With their village guards being glorified farmers, the quaint village of Nadska stood no real chance should the dead bring their claws and teeth to their doorstep.
Ren picked up the quill, dipping it into the ink before scribbling something on the other side of the parchment.
'Town Hall. Good place to start. Nothing but rumors and guesses here.'
Ren tapped the bottom of his fist on his palm as a thought entered his mind. The less than decadent food in this establishment varied on who was asking. Queno was a bit of a stiff when it comes new customers. He liked to discard the old meals in order to profit from otherwise disgusting leftovers. The trick was to know the right people, the right connections to make the barkeeper bring out the good ones. In order to express this thought, Ren pulled out another parchment with which he wrote something on again.
'Leftovers every night. Good ones selective. Use my name for good food. Ren Verte.'
He handed the parchment to her; however, not before pulling out his own pouch which jingled with various gold and silver coins. He placed on the table three silver pieces and one glinting gold coin. When he returned his pouch, he gestured to the coins before raising his index and thumb, squeezing them together. He followed it up by pointing again to the coins and performing the lifting motion once more-- only to end it by pointing at the woman, as if to say 'this is not much, but may it help you well'.
The musician reclined, grabbing the flute once more. And, when Ren was about to put the flute on his lips when one of the armored guards tapped his shoulder-- a demented smirk curving his lips which caused the musician to release a deep, almost nervous sigh. Ren stood up from his chair before looking at the woman with a smile-- he placed his index and thumb over his right eye, then, pointing at her.
'See you.'
The guard shoved him forward, causing the lad to stumble a bit, but ultimately he regained his footing. However, the force removed the scarf around his neck. Thus, as the cloth fell to the floor, the dim light of the tavern illuminated the myriad of cuts littering Ren's neck. His hands quickly rose to cover them, retrieving his scarf and wrapping it around his neck. It was
that time once more. Queno looked at him for a split-second, raising his brow to confirm their agreement of giving the barkeep a portion of the soon-to-be earnings. Red nodded slowly in return, and he placed his lips on the flute to blow out a sad tune to serenade his entrance into the dark room upstairs. He wondered what Tavas would do this time. Incise his skin until a major vessel pops? Contort his body in different positions whilst he pounded his rage into him as his bones broke? Well, the last time he got particularly violent (probably, from him losing his daily wage from gambling), and actually cut off his right arm.
It took a week until Ren fully grew that appendage back. Perks of having an ability which made it difficult for you to die. But, mankind be, oh so, creative when it came to exploiting the powers of others to inflict pain and misery.
Breathe in, breathe out.
Just be glad that this is happening to you...
And, not to them...
As long as it never happens to them...
