Fumblemeer

"Aye, I suppose they aren't for you." She took a look at the town. Still pretty busy at this time. Way beyond the norm, at least. She was too busy worrying about where to go next to even here his mumbled apology over something. "So, where did you have in mind?" She looked over her shoulder, waiting for his response. "I'm really not picky," a lie. "So where ever is fine." Another lie, but he was buying her dinner, she didn't want to seem rude after all.

They stepped through the trees, and she was greeted by the house that apparently belonged to Rodrick. What a.. large one. Inevitably, there was the building on one side, but really, it all seemed so... Respectable. It was really quite a nice place, and Aeval had seen many places like it, but never had the opportunity to go into a extravangantly sized abode. there was a fence around it, and a well kept garden. Considering that Rodrick was previously drunk, and it had become apparent that he often ended up drunk, shirtless, and sleeping in a forest, it was pretty unexpected that he could be running such a nice, tidy place. Then of course, there was the money side of it.

Aeval turned towards him, and said

"I think it's a pretty cool place, if you don't mind me saying."

She winked, then carried on walking towards the house, though slowly. She was still feeling slightly cautious. After all, in this day and age, any insane crap could happen in the click of a finger.

"Well, I don't necessarily know the town too well either...so our best bet is to ask the locals." She took a look at everything he carried, and then looked ahead. "Our best bet is the bar...and when we get there, I've got some questions for you." Stopping for a quick second, she looked around and grasped some form of orientation. She hadn't known how much she'd wandered in the forest and needed to remember which way to head. "Um...your first question. You have any idea where this, 'Wig and Bonet' place is?"

Old Man Bren stumbled into Fumblemeer, leaning on his improvised walking stick and taking great care to seem much more helpless than he really felt. An old habit, granted, but he was not a young man by any stretch. After all, his encounter with the bandits just yesterday left him completely peniless. He dreamt of going to a tavern, having a good swig of wine, but at the same time he knew that this was unlikely to happen. Would he have to..? Yes, he had no choice, did he? Bren would steal today.

This thought unnerved him far less than he considered decent, but then again decency was a trait he could rarely lay claim to. "Find me a decent traveling musician and I'll cut my flute fingers right off." he mumbled. His heart felt a sharp pang just from the thought that his flute was now lost to bandits. His livelihood and the present from someone who was once more than a mentor and a friend, gone in a flutter. "Life's no good. It's just no damn good.".

Had Bren been younger, he may have cried in this moment of weakness and sincere despair. But he was old and despair was no stranger to him. He shuffled to a big willow tree on the roadside, put his knapsack and walking stick on the ground next to him and sung the first song that his first lover had ever taught him, all those long years ago:

"So the leaves flutter and dance
In the wind of sadness and tears
All stories, all this romance
Worn out by the passing of years

But let us remember the things
That when young we enjoyed
When no puppeteer pulled on the strings
And our souls were not void

Your hair danced in the wind
And I saw your beautiful smile
So we kissed, again and again
Held our hands for a while

But time has defeated our hope
Crushed the smiles and the laughter
No flame now, just bitter smoke
And tears that come after..."

Bren was always fond of this melancholy song, so he sang it again and again. Few flutists had such beautiful voices and his carried through the streets of Fumblemeer, caressing every leaf on every tree and, of course, any ear which chose to listen.

Wren walked out of the Wig and Bonet and stretched. He was bored and not ready to head to the inn just yet. But there didn't seem to be anything left to do in the town now that it had gotten so late. He took a step into the street when he heard something coming from the road into Fumblemeer. It sounded like....singing? He looked in the direction it was coming from and saw what looked like a pile of rags leaning against a tree. He made his way over and listened to the last bit of the song.

"But time has defeated our hope
Crushed the smiles and the laughter
No flame now, just bitter smoke
And tears that come after..."

Wren saw that the pile of rags was an old man covered in a cloak with what appeared to be a large stick in his hands. He leaned against the building nearest the trees and crossed his arms. "Now that's not a very cheerful song, is it?"