The telepath and the minstrel

*Gieve glances around the room, having finished playing a bit of music for the late night/early morning servants as they took a break from their chores. not such a bad life... a minstrel could almost always count on at least some bread and wine in return for his music. And he even managed to impress the cook enough for him to throw in a bit of sausage. now there was a generous gift.*

*Rikky blinks slowly at the console, amberblack eyes roving over the face of it, pausing here and there on certain buttons and displays. A small sigh and he leans on the corner of the terminal, tracing absent patterns over the surface, idly. Finally, he glances up… the techies were on break, God Bless the Unions. Rik smiles impishly and presses a few coordinates in, careful to cover up his tracks as he always did. Last time he’d visited, he had a lovely game with a lovely elf. This time… who knows? He’s eager to find out, and so setting the timer and stepping up onto the platform, he’s translocated, moved through space to appear outside the castle, walking forward with a small grin, no one hindering. He doesn’t enter though, but pauses, deciding to look around a bit this time first, and starts to stroll towards where he catches the scent of food*

*he continues to play the harp quietly- the sausage- remarkably fresh, people around here were generous to good music!- still too hot to dare as yet. the bread wasn't fresh- but no surprise there. Maybe if he kept it up he could get some honey or butter out of the cook for it. He glances around the kitchen as he plays- a skeleton crew at work right now.*

*Hyper-keen hearing picked up the music before, of course, but now, closing in on the source, Rikky pauses in his walk and simply listens. His elegant brows raise appreciatively. Whomever was playing the harp was very talented. It wasn’t Ffleww, Rikky knows this immediately, the touch to the strings all wrong. Not elven. Again, he starts forward, focusing on the song quietly played from behind walls… walls Rikky can hear all kinds of things through. The clank of metal instruments, the smell of food, copper, fire… the calls and directions of cooks. A kitchen. There’s a rather large window cut into the stone of the castle, allowing for pies to be placed on ledges to cool and such. Rikky wanders over to it, peeks inside carefully, half-masking himself, just placing the suggestion that he is unremarkable and nothing really to notice. He doesn’t want a pan thrown at his head by a screaming chef or whatnot. Leaning against the outer castle wall, he folds his arms and watches, immediately picking out the harpist. To him alone, Rikky allows himself to be ‘seen’… or noticed. And he smiles softly, nodding an acknowledgment to the musician*

*he glances up from his playing- he's lived this long by taking notice of people just ''casually looking in''. He blinks slightly, taking in Rikky's pointed ears, the obviously NOT human features- his fingers pausing on the strings- looking less than thrilled. A couple cooks pause and glance over to him- then look to the ''ordinary person'' peeking in, wondering what's going on. Gieve's hands return to the harp resuming the tune right where he left off without missing a beat- but his attention is definitely on the....whatever it was at the window. too many races in legends had pointed ears and pretty faces for him to identify him right off....*

*Rikky notes the pause, the small look Gieve gives at the sight of the Eshvan clone at the window. And he smiles at it, ignoring the cooks who glance over at the interruption. They’ll see Rik, but not really see him at the same time. Nothing unusual, nothing exceptional. Nothing of interest. Gieve begins playing again, and the clone shifts again, straightening, leaning against the ledge with his forearms, a casual position. He speaks in his own tones this time, slightly higher than Aerik’s, not as honeyed, not as dark, not as sweet and trapping, but fetching, lovely. A soft tenor, pleasant to the ear* You play well, even if you do not hide with much grace. *he means the look, but the words are gentle, unbarbed, Rikky simply teasing. His voice too will be overlooked, unheard almost, by the others*

*a small smirk- and wondering if such creatures are common by the cooks' evident lack of interest- and he gives a very slight one shouldered shrug, fingers still lightly dancing over the strings.* If you earned your keep by it, you would be rather skilled at it too, I'm certain.. *lazy undertone- faintly accented voice, pitched to not disturb the song overmuch- or he'll lose /any/ chance of honey or butter for the bread. the tone is amiable enough- but any keen listener would catch the reserved feeling to it- Gieve hasn't made up his mind about this one. He hasn't met many non humans- and all that he did ended up in him running for his life. but the cooks dont seem to mind him..* *Rikky holds the smile, it widening a bit even, and he glances down at Gieve’s fingers, watched them a moment, shifting to rest his head in one hand, lids lowering a bit, obviously enjoying the music. Rikky adores music, especially well-played. And the harp, since his last meeting with a Bard, interests him a great deal. He catches the subtle feelings in it. His eyes lift again, shifting to the cooks. A caught idea… butter, honey… and he grins, flicking shadowgold orbs back to Gieve* One would hope, if that is how one earns one’s keep, yes. *he tips his head, eyes shining* I have met only one other harpist, and he was quite skilled as well. Quite skilled. You do well. *praise, from Rikky, any compliment, is given only when meant, and hard to come by, not that Gieve would know this*

*he finishes the song, pausing to flex his fingers afterward. A major difference between a bard and a minstrel...a bard DIDN'T have to pretty much play beggar and make do with what he got. They were actually sought out and hence- had few problems with getting over-weary fingers. when they wanted to quit- people smiled nicely and said okay. A minstrel has to play his fingers off if he wants a decent meal.* hm...so this place already has a player does it? *glancing around the kitchen.* must be a bard.. *very thinly veiled distaste lacing the word. Bards aren't much better than nobles in Gieve’s book. Rather spoiled song birds.* *flexes his fingers again then reaches down for the food. Cooks were feeling only so generous today. ah, well- mixing the sausage with the bread will give the fairly old bread some flavor, and the grease would soften it.*

*Rikky nods slowly, watching the other with intent eyes* Yes. A bard, elfin, by the name of Fflewwddur. Met him a few days ago. You do not… like Bards? *His gaze shifts again, a little push to a cook’s mind… and the large woman turns quietly, mutely, not even really realizing what she’s doing, and puts down a small bowl of churned butter, and a small pot of honey next to the minstrel, then resumes her work. Rik smiles and flicks his eyes back to Gieve* But he is not like you.

*an eyebrow raises at the woman's movements- something just seemed slightly off about them…and Rikky's comments draw a faint frown to the minstrel's lips before he shrugs it off with a flippant expression and one-handed shrug* Bards have their place- in the courts of kings, queens, and nobility. *all three words said with something like politely hidden acid.* and they steal half their songs and never give credit to the mere minstrel who thought them up. *despite what people thought- bards and minstrels had little love for one another. Bards considered minstrels vagabonds- minstrels considered bards thieving cow birds who thought they could sing.* no bard is like a minstrel. *once again- politely hidden tones that speak volumes* Elfin..? *a quick reference back to legends- an answer found. He'd always dismissed them as fairy tales back home.* *then again- he'd dismissed that snake god as a myth too...till it nearly bit him in half.*

*Rikky dismisses what he’s just done… he appreciated good music and if the cooks couldn’t, well then. In his opinion, the cook should have given Gieve the butter and honey on her -own- but since she hadn’t… Another shift in position, Rikky hopping up to sit on the ledge of the window, back to the stone, in a comfortable position, his long legs bent up to place his feet on the sill as well. Grace though, he was all grace* I have never been in a court… nor met a king, nor queen, nor noble that I am aware of. You speak in tones that indicate you have no love for them. I understand some enjoy such places and people. I take it you are not one of them. *he breathes a soft laugh and grins* Yes, elfin. Gold hair, green eyes. Very good with a harp, really, but a lusty creature. And he used his music to aid him. *Elegant shrug* But that is what the trade is for, no? one way or another, to help the player.

*breaking the loaf in half, spreading a bit of the butter over the one and eating a bit- not exactly ''dainty'' about it, but with more grace than one might expect from a human minstrel who, to put it bluntly- is starving. when he finishes a bit, he replies* there are no such creatures back home. *and if this one is a bard- he wants nothing to do with him- though one eyebrow arches rather highly at hearing the elf used his music to get the women* Clearly not clever enough with words then. *it's one thing to write a song /for/ the woman you were trying to woo- but it sounds like this elf didn't take that much care* charming words can accomplish it so much better...there /is/ a such thing as abusing a skill. *would never use his music for /that/. that's why he developed his eloquence- not to irritate the hell out of everyone else. that was just an added bonus*

*The Psionic grins, baring small white teeth, the action pretty, as the rest of him. A languid stretch of limbs, and he folds his arms behind his head, eyes bright* There are none back home where I am from either. It was the first time I had seen an elf, save for in paintings and hearing of them in fable and such. *Rikky’s lids lower minutely, remembering his game with the Bard, and he nods shortly* Words are preferable, indeed… and perhaps you are correct. *now, his brows furrow slightly, unsure of…* There is such a thing as abusing skill?

*well- now he knows this one ISN'T an elf...the back of his mind continues to sift through various tales and legends-damn, why did pointed ears have to be so common in them?* there aren't any such paintings now- they were all burned. *so much for fine art lasting forever, Nassus.* and in that much- I'm confident of it. *he eats a bit more- being sure to use some of the honey as well by dipping the bread in. Another trick to keep potentially stingy listeners from taking back a gift. make it fit only for you.* *and now quite serious* of course there is. I use my music to earn food- my sword skill to defend myself, and my archery to take care of what my sword can't reach. If I was to take a sword to someone without one- and without any fighting skills- that would be abusing my skill more than a bit, don't you think? *taking a drink of the wine. this was an odd conversation...*

*Rikky picks up, without meaning to, some of the struggle Gieve is going thru to place what race the black-haired beauty is… and he hides a smile, glancing outside a moment. /He/ doesn’t even know what he is, save for a clone… he has yet to find one with the knowledge of what an Eshva is. He is even unaware the body his twin has, he has, is demonic in origin* Burned? *he looks back, frowning a bit* Whatever for? Such actions are barbaric, really. Do you agree with them? *he lowers his arms, temples his fingers as he rests his hands in his lap, and tilts his head, blinking slowly* Now then, if the one you are battling is less than you, I can understand entirely handicapping yourself, or perhaps even abandoning the battle in the sense that there is no true victory in the end. If one is unskilled and pathetic, there is no challenge. Even odds, yes, this is preferable. One should not abuse skill in such a sense, true.

/Agree/? hardly...it was my home country that was being burned to the ground about then. The Lusitanians were feeling holy again...*a bit of a pained tone. He met their god...no WONDER they were such pains..* and that isn't quite what I meant. *thinks a moment for how to explain it- responding finally with a shrug and an expansive sweep of the hand to emphasize it.* it boils down to morals I suppose...a willingness to see the difference between right and wrong, and how to work through the grey area everyone lives in between them. there is a such thing as respect for the skill itself. *like using music to lure a girl close. Would serve that bard right if he ran across a lovely woman who was tone deaf.*

…Ah. *Rikky peers owlishly at the man, hearing the pained tone and cocking his head to it, taking a good look at the minstrel before him. A lovely man, to be sure. Especially for a human, which Rikky knew, under no uncertain circumstances, /he/ was -not-. Would be nice to know what he is, but he dismisses that, focusing again on the flame-haired harpist* Hardship. Those things which build character and strength. The old saying, "that which does not kill me only makes me stronger". *Odd, yes… but its about as good as he can do in extending condolences. His tone, at least, is correct, he sounds sympathetic, even if his words are strangely phrased* …Morals… morals. Right and wrong varies so often. Even in close cultures. Certainly, some stay constant, but…. Some morals are luxuries. And they do not… *he pauses, grinning at the thought of the Bard meeting a gorgeous, tone-deaf woman his music and words wouldn’t work on, his eyes twinkling* Respect for the skill itself. Yes, that is what I meant. *It sounds right… tho most likely Gieve doesn’t mean it the same way*

*He's having no luck with his search for what Rikky is- too many races- far too many from the Fae to the angelic to the demonic fit his appearance. There has to be a way to narrow it down...if he even has anything like knowledge of what, exactly, he is. Perhaps his kind never visited Gieve's home country or those around...* *once again, he shrugs, finishing the bread* one king or the other- it makes little difference to the majority of the country. A different flag flies over the castle, a different style of clothing takes over the court, and the soldiers who burn down villages that couldn't pay their taxes or disagree with their local lord simply wear different livery. *the acid is far from thinly veiled there- rather, smothered in a voice laden with a honey all it's own- silk to cover a set of jagged steel claws.* and strength can make you blind. Thank you, no...I think all in all, it's better to be weak as such things are gauged, but intelligent. *a peasant's game that- how else can you take on your lord but dance around his laws, working just within them?* and a man without morals is a lost coward. *much the same acid as had been in his tone when speaking about kings. whatever is the true source of his hatred is well hidden, however- an old set of memories bound thickly and shoved into a secret place and steadily padded through the years. It doesn't take a talented person to build a wall like that...only an extreme emotion or such.*

*Elegant, slender black brows arch like bridges over darkgold pools… interesting response. And this one… he has much pain, most of it hidden, Rikky can almost -see- the bundle hidden away, covered over, shrouded. A source of another strength, despite the man’s words. Rikky’s eyes narrow slightly, judging. He doesn’t pry, doesn’t seek to discover, though he’s certain he could and easily enough. The man was, after all, only human…* You hold much anger. As for strength blinding, I disagree. It is not the strength, but the… arrogance that may stem from it. *His expression darkens a bit, and he looks away, silent a moment, gazing up into the sky over the castle. When he speaks again, he hasn’t turned back, and his voice is quieter, almost lost under the clank of dishes and flurry of movement in the kitchen. Arrogance. Rikky has pride, yes, but arrogance… his own words strike too close to home, and he struggles a moment* But I understand how you are applying the word here. Better if it would not have happened, hm? *finally he glances back, smiling at the silk and venom* I think I would like to visit a court, see a king, a noble. I think it would be… educational. *Then he nods, and murmurs* My name is Aerik. Yours?

*For all the vocal response Gieve gives to the anger comment- he might as well not have heard it. Inwardly, he clamps down on the emotion and promptly shoves it back- another layer now on the memories.* and those who are strong are usually arrogant as well. It's a natural condition, I think...the stronger you are, the more superior you think you are- and someone elsewhere suffers for it. I've seen it happen more often than I'd care to think. *glancing at his harp now* and courts give even my harp a sour note. They are something best avoided and left to the buffoons who want to engage in petty intrigues. *True- Gieve has been to many courts- but as a spy and saboteur for the one person of royalty he has /ever/ trusted. the country prospered under Arislan...he wasn't about to let anyone dethrone the only GOOD king- the only one who cared enough about the peasantry to actually listen to /them/ along with the nobles- his homeland had ever had. if that meant bit of poison there, a carefully placed dagger here- so be it.*

*Rikky lowers his head, blinks slowly, and smiles just as slowly* Interesting reasonings. I take it, from your words, it is not arrogance, then, that prevents you from exchanging names, but simple… lack of manners? Or are those two things also intertwined? Superiority… too much to offer a word to call you. *He says it all very lightly, the barbs well-hidden under the honey tone. But clearly there if one catches it, enough to make most blush* Not only that, but seeking to learn, to go to a court and observe, automatically means, in your glorious opinion, that I am a buffoon. Well, then. *his brows raise and he takes a delicate breath* It is well and good that you depend on your musical skills for survival and -not- your diplomatic ones. *a few other images… a young king, very beautiful, a few favors done for his name and in his name and for his kingdom. Oh yes, very interesting indeed* Skills… and abuse of them. *he smiles, lips tugging into a thin line* I suppose one such as you would know.

Distraction actually. I'm called Gieve. *a slight sigh as he notes the cook's pointed look. if he's going to talk and not play- he can leave. He resettles the harp back into it's proper place, starting another song and re-pitching his voice- a time honored and honed minstrel's trick- so it won't go far and be heard over the music.* *and he does catch the barb- and in his usual style takes it in stride with a smile* I also know there are times when morals bend more to the black than the white in such things...there is no such thing as a perfect man who can walk the line between the two solidly, or stay completely in the white- because the perspective changes with each viewer. as to being a buffoon- I commented that's who courts were for- not that every person to appear there was one. The servants are not such- and are rarely happy to be there. *highly doubts many would be happy waiting on nobles who wouldn't be kind enough to even say thank you when offered a drink by a servant, simply because it was the servant's duty.* *and the oddest idea that somehow- this one knows exactly what some of his other skills are...* I can be quite diplomatic when the time calls for it. Even if my negotiating usually does leave the other wanting their hands around my throat. *even Arislan blinked at some of Gieve's tactics.* and you have to decide when you are truly abusing them. To forward your own ends? often, that’s abuse. To forward the ends of many and for the betterment of them? that is where it gets tricky. *managed to avert a war that would have destroyed his home, already weak as it was from the first war, by killing the king and his son. Two deaths on Gieve’s hands- but how many didn't die because he did that? and the guards around the king were only a little hurt. mostly in their pride.*

*Gieve’s comments on deciding when skills were being abused… do odd things to Rikky’s mind as he tries to take them in, think over them, muse and ponder. He frowns tightly, a hand raising to rub the back of his head, absently, as things shifted and settled again, without his knowledge* Is that.. a justification? Kill when the needs of the many outweigh those of the few? Then it is acceptable? Perhaps.. if it is quick and does not linger? Is that even more acceptable? If few are hurt, this is alright? *Rikky’s mind smoothes over a few other things, ones he himself ignores, but not by choice. His hand lowers again, the frown softening* You display quite well how difficult it is to remain solely in the white or the black. You yourself stroll through many shades of grey, and have given yourself reasons for it all. So then, how does another’s justification of his action really differ from yours, save for in wording? Or is it all a personal preference? *he smiles sweetly, interested in the answer*

*he continues playing, apparently serene with the world at large.* if killing a king means that a war will be averted on both sides and perhaps a better one take his place- then it is a gamble worth taking. If /saving/ the king will do the same- then that will be done. *Gieve has played both sides of that game. Only Nassus and Pharangaze know it though.* and your view does matter on how it's seen. I know that there are many who would disagree with my methods *Arislan foremost among them* others who agree *Nassus and Pharangaze, Arislan's two advisors* and then there is the opinion of the one who is planned on being removed. It often comes down to a game of deciding who will move faster and who has the most to lose. Palsa is a kingdom without slaves now that Arislan holds the throne...though he had much trouble freeing all of them, even in his own domain. Other kingdoms know Palsa is weak and like vultures circle looking for the moment when it falters. Due to efforts on the part of certain parties- Palsa has suffered remarkably few internal struggles. a civil war would be disasterous. if it's to survive, it has to have the way plotted out for it- even if it's young ruler is unaware of just how the road got that way. Neighboring kingdoms need to be warned off or brought to Palsa's side- it's all a matter of balances and sacrifices- what you're willing to do and what you're willing to give up. *glancing at Rikky* Morals have their place there- they limit how far one will go. Poison a king? yes. Poison his whole family and household? Hardly. What did the servants ever do but serve? *Gieve doesn't claim to be a hero- far from. but he does what he can, what he's best at when it comes to these things- to help his country survive. Patriotic in his own odd way- now that there's a king worth being patriotic ABOUT.*

*Rikky smiles at the soft music, the softer voice that doesn’t interfere with it, and watches the hands strumming the strings for a few moments, listening. Eventually, he breathes a soft laugh and raises his eyes, showing the gold glint in them* There are always those who will agree and disagree. I understand you have your morals and your ways, but that is not what I was asking after. Is there a standard to conform to? For without that, a code that the majority accept and uphold, that laws are based on and such, how would such morals be reinforced or even considered correct? Except by personal ideals, of course. You claim to kill a king is fine, but to kill his household and servants is not. Yet I put this to you… if you exterminate his household, you end his bloodline, and the rule of his House. Is this not also to a kind of benefit? And servants… you can never be certain who knows what, who is masquerading, so is it not also a kind of logic to kill them? All things can be justified, easily enough. One man or his entire family and beyond, it all can be claimed to be reasonable. And perhaps it is… and perhaps it is not. Morals vary, but they can be just as strongly believed in and upheld. Sometimes, many times, limits themselves are a weakness. So then, where is the conformity? And even with it, will not many dismiss the laws? Ah, and there is your moral infortitude. Do you not agree?