Rhapsody in Blue: Measure #4

I was working on a new song in Ul’dah after I’d finished playing for yet another fete for one of the Syndicate. For some reason the words hesitated to come to me; another song about heroes marching unto an uncertain fate. Such songs were always popular with the tavern crowds, but the words came haltingly and with difficulty. I tried sitting by the fountain in the Gold Court, but the ribald conversations being had there did nothing to inspire me unto anything heroic. If anything, it made me feel uncomfortable and part of a conversation I didn’t want to be privy to.

I abandoned the Gold Court in favor of the Quicksand and found myself seated next to a miqo’te and another Duskwight elezen already deep in conversation. As I pondered over my word choices, I was offered a reprieve from my composer’s block with a line given by the young miqo’te lass seated nearest me. I was grateful, but still the words came with difficulty, my Muse it seemed was not with me tonight.

As I listened to the conversation between the miqo’te, Miqala Yayasuya and her elezen companion, Elenthea Dupont, I heard her telling the fellow duskwight about how she did her best to help people, whether it was crafting things at her smithy, using her tailoring, or simply doing whatever it was that needed doing. It made me think about just how few songs were out there that celebrated such individuals. There were songs aplenty about heroes, heroism, and great deeds and adventures, but so precious few that honor the artisans and foragers that supply us and prepare us for every day life.

So I set to remedying that. The words came far more easily to me in those moments and I was able to compose the first few stanzas of a new song. I was filled with a renewed sense of purpose and creativity that made me feel as if I were on the right track, where my efforts needed to be.

The song itself led to a conversation with the miqo’te maiden, Miqala, drawing her out of conversation with my duskwight kin to which I was quite apologetic, but the other woman seemed not to mind. I learned from Miqala that she had regrets in her life, tied to some heartbreak and a woman she clearly once loved. Whatever happened between them left its scars on Miqala and some part of her longed for closure. I advised her then that perhaps she should put all those feelings, all that longing, all that want into the next thing she crafted. Once it was finished, I suggested she donate it to the Adventurer’s Guild or she give it to a new adventurer in need of such a weapon, since she considered making a gunblade of some type.

It was hard to say whether she truly embraced the suggestion or not, but it at least seemed to give her food for thought. Not long after, she excused herself to take to her bed, so I bid her farewell. I can only hope that she finds the closure she seeks and that, perhaps, all those ill feelings she has find egress in her work, leaving her a happier, healthier soul.

Not long after Miqala departed, I was joined at the bar by a fellow duskwight, Amon Savic, who commented on the song as I continued working on it. It led to a conversation, as such things often do, and I learned that he was a career soldier with many scars. That views his soldier’s habits, his skills as a tactician as a deficit, not a benefit. I can understand that to some degree, war-trained habits are hard to break, difficult to overcome. I’ve known and spoken to many knights of Ishgard, both within the city and at the Convictory who bear such scars. They have no idea how to be anything other than soldiers and it inhibits them in all other aspects of their lives. I think Amon seeks to avoid that fate.

He seeks to find normalcy in his life, to make new friends and distance himself from his past. I can certainly hope that he finds it, that somewhere beyond the horizon he can find his new “normal.”

It amused me that he asserted that I likely have the ability to use my words to sway a room of soldiers to be reminded to enjoy the life that they all seek to so ardently protect. I couldn’t help but think of my beloved, Koh’li Nbolo, who was a career soldier and hunter to his core, nigh feral and a creature of the outdoors. My words and my presence have drawn him into the comfort of our home in Lavender Beds to the point that Koh even calls it home — which speaks volumes for a nomadic creature such as he. But I digress…

The conversation with Amon continued and he made me privy to a “secret:” His reasons for doing the things he does was for the sake of a woman. Not an uncommon story and certainly not anything that was as earth-shattering as his inebriated mind was making it out to be. As I told him, many great things in the world were done for the sake of love. There are few things more powerful, that can turn hearts of stone to hearts of gold, the taciturn into songbirds, or the lost into the found. He accused me of “doing that thing” with my words, that my words had the power to persuade a different way of thinking. I told him that my words were meaningless without ears to hear them and each person hears and takes unto themselves their own interpretations, none of that is my doing.

At this he complained and threatened to cut his ears off, but I told him not to be rid of a Duskwight’s most handsome feature. He also offered to introduce me to others among his friends, that he’d enjoyed his conversation with me and felt they would too. Linkpearls were exchanged. I made yet another new friend. A welcome thing, always, to a minstrel because how else are we to find more stories for song fodder? But honestly, I would never turn anyone’s life or story into song without permission.

Ere he departed, Amon seemed to have an idea about my pacifism and thus made me the following offer: If he could guarantee my safety, would I be willing to travel with him on some of his jobs in an effort to garner enough material for a song or two about his exploits. He would, of course, cover expenses and see me paid for my efforts. Given that I know little to nothing about this man, I told him that he would have to prove that he was capable of vouchsafing my person. My hands, my presence, are all vital to my profession, so I cannot entrust my well-being to just anyone.

In counter-offer I told him that he had to go to The Bloodsands and battle an opponent of his own choosing. If he beat them, then I would agree to his proposition, but only then. I will not entrust my safety to someone who cannot prove his skill. I have Koh’li to hold him up against, so the expectations levied upon him are fairly high. There are none who bodyguard me so well as Koh. Indeed, he offered to take on a champion of my own choosing, but the champion I would choose would be Koh’li — and there is no way Amon would win. Then where would he be?

Fearless to the last, he asserted he’d be fine, then took himself off to bed to sleep off what inevitably would be a hangover in the morning.

As for me, I returned home.