Zaketa presents a carefully crafted mask to the world; one of sharp edges, privilege, and bravado. Only those closest to her, her most loyal guards, know the real Zaketa. And she is so much more than what her warlord father has crafted her to be.
In...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
The crisp autumn winds made having wet socks and a perpetually damp coat just all that more miserable. Few and far between were the people who appreciated the skills of a bard, and Payton had been stuck in the between stage for far too long. He had other skills to fall back on if need be, but only as a last resort.
Today, he'd managed to procure a prime spot on one of the corners of the marketplace. It was an area that the upper classes were known to shop, and thus, a prime area for those with a little extra coin to take pity on him, or if he was lucky, hire him.
The latter was unlikely at this point. In his damp and well-worn clothes, he had all the appeal of a water rat. He knew all too well that folks liked their bards to have the appearance of a swaggering peacock. Even on his best days, he was little more than a trilling bird. Pretty when he was clean, but lacking the swagger and finery of those who truly excelled at his chosen profession.
Despite that, Payton stood up straight and tall, belting out the popular tunes of the day, fingers moving along the strings of his guitar with skill and ease despite the cold. That was the thing about music. No matter how uncomfortable he was, he could lose himself in the melody, in the beauty of a well-woven tale. It was in these moments that he knew he shone brightest.
It was after losing himself in the ballad of The Undying Queen, that he blinked back into awareness and realized that he had an audience. A hooded girl stood before him, a fabric mask over her face, head cocked to the side as she listened. Behind her loomed a slender figure, hooded, masked, and dressed all in black. Payton cleared his throat, wondering what could have possibly drawn such a pair to him. Well, he knew it was likely his music, but why of all the people in the market would these two take an interest in him?
"Good day, Miss. Do you have a request? If I know it, I'll play it!" he said with a flourish and a bow.
She inclined her head and tossed a few coins into his hat. It was a sizable amount, and he bowed low. "The Undying Queen is a favorite of mine. So you've already played what I would request."
"Then make another, so I can earn such a charitable donation."
"Do you compose your own music?" she asked.
"I do, miss."
"Then I'd like to hear one of those."
Payton nodded and considered her for a long moment. "Is there any sort of style or type of music you might prefer?"
"A ballad of heroes. No love songs."
Payton chuckled. Of course. She didn't look to be the sort of frivolous, love-sick girl he so often had flocking to listen to him. Again, he considered her, wondering which of his songs she might like. Most of his songs were love songs and love ballads, they were popular sources of escapism. Heroes and legends did have an appeal among the soldiers, though he tended to avoid those sorts of crowds. His fine-boned, fair features often made him a target among such groups.
