Carmen
You could hear them coming from a mile away, even through that night’s heavy rain. A bigger crowd of miners than usual flooded into Tryssee’s Place. As they got settled into their seats and we settled them into their cups, it wasn’t long until music began to mingle with the chatter and clamber. Glittering notes floated into and colored conversations. I walked over to the singing lounge to address our newest performer.
Alone on the stage was a lithe figure adorned in kimono and make-up playing a harp. A warm ambiance poured off of them, mellow tones like the gentle river’s tide. Limber hands plucked out warm notes, in themselves a melody but also like a call and response with the rest of the sounds of the bar. His shoulders nod like countryside hills, atop which their face tilts upwards. Their makeup contours tawny skin into various sandy golden shades, with swirls of blues and purples around the eyes. Though clear they are listening intently, they gave no indication of hearing me until I stepped over the lip of the stage, when his eyes fluttered open.
I nod, and turn to address the nearby patrons. “Good evening. Providing entertainment for us tonight is a musician who is new to town. Having built up a name for herself in Waterdeep’s lounges and bars, he has decided to come to Mythrite to, like many of you, try something new. Please give a warm welcome to Carmen.”
I meet Carmen’s appreciative gaze before returning to my seat behind the bar. As he adjusts the harp’s clamps she smiles warmly at patients. “The birds must have known the storm was coming. We missed their song this morning.” Bright notes twinkle and chirp, but is abruptly cut off by dissonant clunking and tumbling down the octaves. A few patrons chuckle, and I settle further into my seat.
Carmen emulates various sounds of the day: the methodical chipping and picking; a humid chord's stuffy crescendo; the sweltering heat dissipating into rain drops; the mud bearing the thudding of footsteps. Carmen lets the instrument speak for itself, flowing playfully. Eventually she reaches the ambiance of the bar, transposing the atmosphere into a relieving, resonating warmth. Patrons offer applause as Carmen stands to bow, wearing a warm smile and fiddling with their sleeves. As they stand back up they clip their sleeves just short of their elbows. Now visible are menacing clouds raining down towards the wrists. Birds wrap around the other side of the arms to avoid the rain, disappearing up in the rest of the sleeve.
She scans the crowd again. After a brief exchange with a lone patron, they are following Carmen up onto the stage, placing their chair on the opposite side of the harp to Carmen. I recognize the patron; one of the quieter folks who people watches most of the time. Their hands fidget slightly as they sit facing the rest of the lounge. He glances through the wall of strings to Carmen, meeting his brown eyes, almost yellow next to the deep blue colors. Carmen smiles cooly and tilts his head up.
“Let’s make music, my new friend.”
Carmen begins with a neutral melody, and eases the patron into the song with prompts for words or phrases. Over the course of minutes the song transformed into a ballad of unrequited love, never allowed to settle with the creeping sense of running of time barely staved away by brief moments of ecstasy. While the harp colors the mood in crystal clear cascades and progressions, Carmen’s voice offers simple, yet profound lyrics in a deep alto timbre; husky, velvety, and tender all together. The stage might yet feel a bit like an island, a false sense of secrecy in emulating a confessional as such.
The song reaches its ending, and the two of them share words and smiles before standing up. The patron returns to his seat, a bit more engaged with his surroundings and the patrons seated nearby. More patrons return to talking, and the music and performance occupy less of the bar’s attention. Drinks are topped up, and seats are settled further into. There’s a while to wait out the storm, but the atmosphere makes it feel far away.
As seen by Gabrielle Tryssee
Physical Description
General Physical Condition
They are in fine health; tall and graceful, like the flagpole cherry tree.
Facial Features
Rounded low-arch eyebrows frame round caramel eyes. His face is slender with a brushstroke jaw and a slightly pronounced chin. They have a flat button nose and bow-shaped lips, often idly smiling.
Specialized Equipment
Carmen's performance may feature costuming and make-up, usually with the removal of the former to reveal the latter.
Mental characteristics
Gender Identity
Nonbinary (any pronouns)
Sexuality
Pansexual
Education
History is a bore without considering the motivations and feelings which drove notable figures. That's how Carmen's gotten through classically boring subjects. Their favorite subject was writing, though stuffy academia was too dry and helplessly hypothetical for her tastes. His likening to music, funnily enough, made math quite easy to pick up. Around mid-adolescence, when her vocal career really began, was when Carmen's education shifted from classic Waterdeep schooling to private tutoring.
Employment
Carmen has had three agents so far in their career, all helping spread his name through different circles of Waterdeep. Her first agent, Ashryn Norrel, was the one who proposed moving to Waterdeep; they passed on the laments from some of the resident lords, how the culture, music, and art of the city was dying off.
Personality Characteristics
Motivation
Art is an expression one's identity; this is what Carmen believes, and what drives her to express themselves above anything else. Furthermore, there is a comforting feeling of being understood and understanding others that goes hand in hand with the rich catharsis of a heartfelt performance.
Relationships
Alignment
Chaotic Good
Current Location
Species
Age
20
Birthplace
Castle Ward, Waterdeep
Spouses
Siblings
Children
Eyes
Caramel, round
Hair
Close-cropped, wavy, deep hickory color
Skin Tone/Pigmentation
Tawny, warm like an evening lounge room
Height
6'2"
Weight
161 lbs.
Quotes & Catchphrases
"Art is action, but not all action is art."
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