Moonsong

Ever since the escape from the Underdark, when the far off sounds of silvery hunting horns had led them to safety, Fiego couldn’t get their music out of his head. It had begun to haunt his sleep and on this particular night he woke up to moonlight streaming in the window, solid bars of silver gleaming with motes of dust. The night was quiet, but something about the silence called to the bard like the rests between beats of a song unheard. It was an expectant quiet as if waiting for the cue of an unseen conductor and Fiego’s hands yearned for the touch of an instrument.
 
He slipped from his bed and almost absent mindedly retrieved his fiddle, strapped his rapier to his hip, and walked out onto the streets of Waterdeep, not even noticing that his feet were bare. Even in the North Ward there were usually at least some guards patrolling through the night, but the streets were conspicuously empty. Fiego wandered, bemused by the moonlight, and found the northern entrance of the city open and unguarded. All the while, he played on his fiddle, working out the elusive notes of the mysterious song they’d heard deep underground.
 
(It was slow and melancholy, was it not? But phrases had ended with a lift that added a note of ... hope?)
 
As he kept puzzling it out, he found himself on the northern road toward Amphail, the countryside burnished in the silver of the full moon. As he was playing a particularly tricky passage he stumbled and lost the notes when his sword tangled between his ankles. In annoyance, he unstrapped it from his hip and drove it into the ground, directly in the middle of a crossroads. As the half elf continued to play, his feet found a rhythm of their own, slow and shuffling at first but quickening until he was leaping and spinning in circles around his sword, still playing with an intense focus.
 
He was finally (finally!) getting the song down when something distracted him and the music came to a stop. In the crossroads balanced en pointe on the hilt of his blade was a (flickering silver flame) beautiful woman. Her skin was dark as night and She wore nothing but Her long silvery flowing hair. She glanced behind herself at Fiego, the movement causing a cascade of shining (fire) hair (water) to fall and expose one perfect ebon shoulder. Her eyes flashed silver at him then died down to embers of deep blue and She raised an elegant hand toward him. She spoke no words, but the gesture was as clear to him as if She’d whispered in his ear …
 
~ please, continue playing ~
 
And so he did, picking up the song and the steps where he’d left off. It flowed from him as if he’d always known it, notes like long forgotten memories rising to the surface, an undercurrent to his entire life. It sang of love and of loss, steps leaping with happiness and spinning in spirals of despair. Through it all were silvery notes of hope always hinting at the dawning of a new day. It was the story of life itself, pure elemental vitality distilled into movement, rhythm, and melody. It came to a crescendo, Fiego’s fingers flying over the neck of his fiddle, and ended on a long high note, the bow drawing a keening wail from the instrument that seemed to go on forever without resolving, leaving the ending of the song hanging without resolution, a promise of continuance in the silence of the mind.
 
Fiego came to himself standing in front of the dark maiden, breath heaving. There was a moment of silence that was broken by Her laugh, a peal of silvery bells. Then She back flipped elegantly to the ground, drawing his blade as She went, and landing in a perfect fencer’s stance. Fiego found himself in that instant (making love) dueling with a partner who was the living embodiment of skill. Armed with nothing but the bow of his fiddle he countered the maiden’s attacks and, though She wielded his own razor sharp rapier, Her hand was so light and quick that She never cut a single horse hair from his instrument. Her swordcraft so far outstripped his that it made him feel like a fumbling virgin to the blade. Her (caresses) slashes moved with an elegance that left him breathless and Her (kisses) thrusts always caught him unguarded, aimed unerringly for his heart.
 
Though She could have dispatched him in the first exchange, She instead led him through the steps of the sword dance, every parry and riposte leading into the next. She led then followed and followed and led, Her knowing smile teaching him more than any master ever had. Their dance took them over fields and through woods until, exhausted, Fiego collapsed by a stream. With a smile, the maiden leaned over him, the fall of Her silver hair surrounding him like a veil and blocking out the light of the stars. She whispered in his ear …
 
Fiego blinked himself awake to late morning sun. He stretched lazily, muscles pulling oddly. Had he been drinking the night before? But no, he didn’t feel the impending pain behind his eyes that usually accompanied those activities, instead he felt .. pleasantly sore? As if ... but his bed was empty save for him and he didn’t remember bringing anyone home. The half elf shrugged, never one to question life’s pleasures too deeply. Yawning, he made his way from his bed, not noticing the mud stains he was leaving from his bare feet.