Zeheir's Tradgedy
A knight in well-made, but low-end armor comes riding his horse into the area. His visor is up, revealing a fire-engine-red face with a yellowish nose, long fangs protruding from his squarish lower jaw, and an electric blue birthmark over one eye. His horse is brawny and tall, but wears no barding beneath the knight's heraldic caparison. Knight and steed are heading toward the Flightwright Theater's box office.
Olav is part of a small crowd gathered not far from the Flightwright, watching three Lucht performers acting out some scenes from The Light Fantastick, a new play scheduled to open soon. They aren't especially good, but he seems enraptured. His dogs are lazilly lying on the ground at his feet, and a grey-garbed local is standing a few feet away, eyeing him speculatively.
The theater district is a place that's always lively. Full of artists and artistry. Music is always present. And other pockets of light entertainment. At one street corner, a woman sits on a stack of boxes, a scattering of interested parties gathered in a loose arc near to listen. She's distinctively dressed, in dark red and gold harlequin's garb, one leg curled underneath her. Leaned forward, she is telling a tale, her face hidden by a simple red half mask, lined with gold accents. Nightshade speaks not just with her voice, but a smooth play of her arms, hands tracing out actions within the tale. Punctuating moments of excitement and helping to guide her small audience along the path of her story. A simple one, a common one. The hero and the villain. The maiden and the beast. The searching, the seeking. The struggle and final confrontation. The battle. The victory. Appealing by default, but even more so when carefully unwound for those who stop to listen.
The knight fails not to notice the small audience gathered to hear Nightshade's tale. His horse comes to a stop behind them, standing with all the discipine of a model soldier. The knight's coat-of-arms is colorful and bright, even if he is judicious in his speech. His mere stature presents an imposing sight to behold, and those nearest him unconsciously find themselves moving to give his horse a generous berth.
The Lucht wrap up their performance and Olav applauds happily, then apologetically declines when they pass the hat around. "Sorry," he explains. "I would, but I'm flat broke." The woman in grey behind him seems to lose interest in that moment and a well-dressed Arvek Nar catches her eye. Olav begins wandering again, his dogs following him attentively while curiously sniffing everything in a twenty-foot radius. He ends up part of Nightshade's audience, joining the story in the middle but seeming to catch up easily enough. The dogs are far more interested in Heinrich's horse, though, and begin curiously -- if perhaps not too intelligently -- sniffing at his fetlocks.
Nightshade does not seem troubled to have a mounted addition to her audience, there not a hitch in the flow of her tale. As her audience grows bit by bit she unspools the tail end slowly.
"And so he took up his blade!"
At which point Nightshade pops herself up to her feet atop the boxes, moving with a lithe, practiced precision, her right arm lifting as if she bore said blade.
"And he leapt at the great beast, true in purpose, true in heart!"
A neat hop from the boxes carries her to the ground, her arm sweeping in a wide, demonstrative arc as her voice lifts, carrying an excitement and focus on her tale.
"The savage was powerful, oh so powerful. So quick. Yet the great blade Talon was light in his hand and ever so ready to sweep and slash!"
As she tells her tale and as she moves, she casually betrays that she has at least some knowledge of such things. Even if her form is not the stuff of legends.
She's telling a grand tale in the midst of the theater district with a small scattering of folk gathered to listen. Heinrich and Olav have come to join. Though a canny eye would note that, unlike most performers, there is no tin or hat laid out for donations. Just she and the boxes she was once sat upon.
Olav's dogs suddenly get very excited and run west, and Olav follows.
Across the street where the large open stage is set, there is a huge backdrop being raised by several very busy muscular men. It's an organized effort as the play is being set up, and the hearld for the show begins to shout. "OUR PLAY WILL BEGIN IN A FEW MOMENTS. COME SEE ZEHEIR'S TRAGEDY! BROUGHT TO YOU FROM THE DEPTHS OF OUR ARCHIVES FOR YOUR ENJOYMENT! COME ONE, COME ALL! SEE ONE OF THE GREAT LOVE STORIES OF YEARS GONE BY!"
Yelrona has been discussing Zeheir with the local bards for what feels like forever by now, and has maintained a special interest in the theatrical version of Evaline's death... if only because it seems to be the only version available. So it's that performance, or rather the promise of it, that brings her to the Theatre District now. She perches on a stone pillar near the stage, wanting a close view.
Heinrich watches Nightshade as she demonstrates the action of which she tells, but then turns to watch those joining the audience. His horse stands proudly.
At the announcement of the imminent theatrical, he looks over toward the stage, and nudges his horse into an easy but dignified trot heading toward it.
Nightshade plays out a few moments of cut and thrust, her words weaving the highs and lows of the fight. The combatants trading superiority back and forth. She pauses as there is a call out from nearby for a paly soon to start. Her eyes shift towards the sound and a faint smile comes to her lips. The pause in her tale a matter of a breath before she relaxes and says. "And the tale shall be finished tomorrow at midday." She sketches a deep bow that causes the tails of her hood to brush the ground, though a few of her audience seem put off that the tale would be paused at the climax.
But they didn't pay for the tale and Nighshade seems to have no interest in asking for payment for the entertainment. Still with her half mask on, she turns and migrates towards the stage, the woman moving with a relaxed grace. It never hurts to listen to the tales of others. All the better to pick up a nugget here or there to add to a future story, after all.
Among the smaller aeries, theater is a rare thing to come by; few traveling troupes just aren't willing to make the climb to entertain an Egalrin community, and it's often just as interesting, if not more, to watch the younger birds try to come up with sports that take advantage of the open skies.
But the notion of a day of theater is an interesting one nonetheless, and it'll be good fodder for her latest letter to her husband, and so Iolaire has occupied a stone pillar of her own, clawed feet swinging freely, gloved hands tucked into her lap, ice-green eyes bright with interest.
...At which point it occurs to her to wonder if the pillars are in fact allowed seating, or if she was just fooled by Yelrona's need for a good view.
The sight of feather's catches Aella's attention perhaps a little later than it should. Once she sees Iolaire, though, Aella is making her way to the closest unoccupied pillar and taking a perch near the other Egalrin. Flocks need to stick together, right? Even if they don't actually know each other.
Once the knight reaches the audience area, he dismounts. He removes his helm, more fuliy exposing his hobgoblin head. He lashes the helm onto the pommel of the saddle, then walk around to stand beside the horse on the side where his jousting lance is stowed.
Morgan comes walking in from the north but takes a few moments to watch a few street preformers doing some jugling.
It takes a few more moments for the play to set up, allowing the herald to draw more people in with promises of a show unlike any other. There's excitement in the air as the curtain comes down and then rises. Out comes the herald again to the front. "We begin... With a lonely wizard, in a lonely laboratory, working, working away to create life."
The young actor is revealed, a young man barely out of his teens. The beginning of the play is then begun. A solitary young man begins his course, working on golems slowly developing them. First he gives them the power of movement, then voices, then at last his creations begin to show signs of intelligence. An actual war golem plays the part of this creation and then 'Zeheir' moves on. Creating magical creatures of every design and giving /them/ life. Puppets of extraordinary design and costumes are used to elicit creations such as a giant scaled bird, creatures that look like trolls, and more besides.
However the overarching theme is that Zeheir is lonely. That he creates these things because there is a hole inside him that he can not fill. "All of these things I have wrought, but none of them can keep me warm. None of them can sit with me, and beeee byyyyy myyyy siiiiide." Sings 'Zehier'.
Nightshade moves into the open air stage, picking a spot towards the back and side of the seating, hopping onto the seat to settle herself on the seat back. Her elbow propped against one knee, chin on her hand. Quietly observing with focused attention.
Yelrona tilts her head to one side curiously, as a new idea occurs to her. She makes a small note in her little book.
Iolaire bobs her head in greeting at the newcomer, dropping her jaw in the birdlike equivalent to a grin. "Well, *this* is interesting!" she says, her voice clearly pegging her as rather more advanced in years than most who carry a weapon like the one at her hip. "...Though I'd no idea that wizards were *that* lonely. ... ...You don't think he's going to try to magic him up a mate? Oh dear, that could end poorly..."
Aella nods to Iolaire, offering the same grin back. It's pretty clear that she'd like to chat with the other Egalrin, but she also doesn't want to draw away from the play itself! "I bet he is." She nods firmly, looking back to the stage.
Despite his stoic facade, the knight gives hints to the observant of inner emotion as he struggles to not betray the sympathy to which the play has moved him.
"Very poorly," comments a young half-mul with a dry tone. "I don't know about you, but if a wizard magicked me up out of whatever I happened to be doing at the time to profess his love, he'd need to be a strong wizard because he'd be having a fight on his hands." Molly clasps her hands behind her back, having moved to join the crowd of people watching the play also. She has a long polearm sheathed across her back, perhaps a bit at odds with the clerical trappings she carries; but, there it is just the same.
"We open on Evaline, a lovely half-elvish sorceress." The herald backs away from the stage as the curtain reopens on a forest scene. The actress sings for a bit, showing off a beautiful voice. She sings of the springtime and the actor playing Zeheir comes upon her. They both stop, expressing a moment of love at first sight. The two actors perform admirably, softening their faces toward one another. 'Zeheir' stumbles to introduce himself and 'Evaline' seems to be amused by his shy nature.
Thus begins their love, the play winds them together, meetings in the forest, the first time that they share magic and their passion for it together. And then toward the end of the second act the first ring of tragedy as 'Everine' falls to the stage floor dramatically and 'Zeheir' runs to her side to ask what is wrong. The curtain swings shut.
"A bit hackneyed," Nightshade muses to herself casually, seeming to draw her own conclusions as to where the story goes. Though her tone isn't dismissive. Still thoughtful on the play of the story so far. "A bit unbelievable, but not too bad."
Then the love aspect is displayed and she taps her chin thoughtfully. "Not bad. And no happily ever after. Not a good choice for most audiences."
"Well, that's just the second act," Rona points out. "Maybe in the third act he builds a golem to replace her and they walk off into the sunset together."
Morgan says as she sits near Rona and says "na flesh golems make bad lovers, read the story of Melanna the lonely.”
Heinrich applauds vigorously as the curtain closes on the second act.
Yelrona nods to Morgan. "Fair point. Though Zeheir's golems were exceptional."
"What is happening here?", asks a small voice from the crowd. A wee Gnome in black robes eventually finds a tree with an overhanging branch that's low enough for her to get up to. Where she studies the stage carefully. "Did someone say Zeheir?", the white-haired Gnome asks no one in particular. "*That* Zeheir?"
The third act begins with Zeheir and Evaline's wedding, both of them shining with happiness that quickly dims as the play moves on. In each scene as Zeheir tries everything magically and medically possible to cure her of what is clearly an illness that is killing her the two grow more and more haggard. Dark lines grow beneath their eyes, their hair grows lank. The two of them wear down together until 'Zeheir' is settled at the edge of her bed holding her hands as she is clearly fading away. "I will bring you back Evaline. I swear it." He's crying and she cradles his hands. "No, you will find someone else to love. Live without me my dearest. Be happy." She 'dies' quietly and the actor playing Zeheir falls down upon her sobbing.
The herald comes out again, his face solem. "We close on Zeheir, weathered and worn by time. A man who has never known love again."
The stage opens to an old man, his long hair white and his long beard streaked with gray. He sings for the audiance, his command of his voice the best of any who has stepped out on stage. He sings of unending loneliness. Of years gone by without the love or touch of another. "How many years gone by? How many more must fly? Without yooooou byyyyy myyyyy siiiiide?" He's crying at the end of it, his song so powerful that much of the crowd is spellbound by it, moved to tears. There's silence as the curtain closes, and then wild applause.
Yelrona knows the story well by now, and had not really come here as a patron of the arts, but she can't help but be moved.
Zelany grins down at Yelrona, a faint hint of recognition on her face. "He was the world's best golem maker, in both his estimation, and in the estimation of his peers, and in those that have followed behind in his path. There's been... trouble recently with some of his works. And someone is clearly manipulating his towers." She, like many others, becomes enraptured with the story playing out on stage, and cheers with the closing of the curtain. Though, her facial expression is more serious. To Yelrona, she says, "It is a very odd time to be having a play about this man's life. It is most curious."
The masked harlequin lifts her eyes towards a voice from above, head turning slightly. "You or he were making golems and unnatural creations?" Her lips drawing into an amused little smile. NIghtshade's eyes lower to the stage again. "The story should end here. She dies and so he goes on alone, unfulfilled. A suitable tragedy."
Then of course, the third act comes and she observes avidly. The acting is good. Delightful. Yet she seems mildly disappointed with the flow of the story. Regardless, as it ends she does clap. But she wonders to herself, "No attempt to remake her? Transfer her into a creation? That would be interesting." She is thoughtful, perhaps considering just such a story for her very own. Though she's not unaware of the talk of others in the area, her head canting as she listens in.
"Well, it might not be a coincidence," Rona explains to Zelany. "I was researching the historical Zeheir after running into some of the trouble you mentioned, and talked to the Bardic College, and they were somewhat inspired to stage this play... apparently it's been around for a while."
Heinrich bawls unashamedly and loudly at the end of the play. He pushes his way through to the stage as the singer replaces the actors and says, "That was heart-rending! Such passion! Such romance!"
Morgan gives a clap "not bad."
The white-haired Gnome eyes the masked harlequin curiously, an eyebrow quirked ever so slightly. "No, I would not stoop to dabble in golem-making." To Yelrona, she nods. "Is it not strange that this play exists to extoll his virtues, and appears at a time when it is needed to deflect criticism?"
Morgan sas to the Gnome near her and zona "I have found two of the places he has made. What made me sad about is there was nothing on his works at all."
After a suitable pause for applause the herald returns, soothing the audience with his hands. "It must be told! That this story of tragedy is not some made-up story, but in fact a true one. The story of their love lives on now in your hearts, and in this way they live on. Go forth and tell their tale, and be merry - for they had love even if for but a brief time!" The herald bows and the actors come out for their final bow.
Aella is still perched up on a pillar, watching. Enraptured, really. She'd never seen anything quite like this before! She's all caught up in it, and only just now glancing to the crowd around the stage again.
Yelrona applauds, distractedly. "I wonder if it's the only way they live on," she muses to nobody in particular. "Or Evaline, anyway."
The white-haired cleric doesn't say much else through the rest of the performance, apparently prefering to simply watch and take it in. By the end of it, Molly straightens her coat, and humms, giving a light shrug of her shoulders. "Not really sure what to think of that."
Heinrich returns to his horse, muttering as he plods through the audience, "Now I need a drink." He mounts the horse and leans forward in the saddle to pat the animal's neck.
Nightshade glances towards the gnome and shakes her head. "Not you. The story." She lifts an arm in a grand gesture towards the stage, leaning back slightly where she has settled on the back of her seat. Toying with her balance as one leg lifts into the air, the other only resting lightly on the heel of her boot. "A mad genius and his obsession. The lengths and depths to which he would go to recreate that perfect love. A more tragic and compelling story, don't you think? To just give up, such a narrative waste."
Iolaire looses a shrill whistle as the audience claps, but the conversation catches her attention, the harlequin's question bringing a chuckle to her beak. "Not quite, but my Saburo was always shy... He's a sweetheart, you see, and it probably helped that I wasn't terribly fearsome after very nearly eating a thrown catapult stone." She pauses, tilting her head, and nods slowly. "Perhaps it would be more exciting, certainly... but a love story needn't *always* be a tragedy, else why fall in love at all?"
Zelany chuckles to Nightshade. "He did not give up.", she says with a shrug. She looks to Iolaire. "Eating catapult stones can't be all that healthy, I would imagine."
Morgan thinks to what Zelany said. "Death by catapult what a hell of a way to go."
Aella glides down from her perch, landing slightly off the side of the dispersing crowd. "Maybe he secretly found a way to live on with her, and just left this story to keep people from finding out."
"Well, at least it's quick," Rona observes. "The catapult, I mean."
Nightshade rolls her attention towards Iolaire as she notes, "Everyone else enjoys simpler love stories. I delight in interesting. Unconventional. Even if, from time to time, I dabble in trite and pedestrian yarns. Playing with catapults, however.. That could be interesting." She then considers Zelany. "Then this is not just a tale? Is there truth to this story? Do tell."
Morgan says to Nightshade "Oh I learned a lot from this show, but I prefer more vaudevillan <or what ever we would call that here> types of show."
Zelany grins at Aella and nods. "That's one of the rumours. He may have dabbled in necromancy to lengthen his life, and hers. It is a coincidence that the play is just showing now, with the recent disturbances involving his golems and towers. That a .. a vampire infected a young boy, who headed off across the Vast to one of Zeheir's towers." She nods to Morgan, "It'd be a quick surprise, certainly. But not necessarily a quick death, if it, say, just got your leg." The white-haired Gnome nods to Yelrona and then turns to Nightshade.
"He was one of the, if not the, best golem makers the world's ever seen. As to whether this is just a tale, that will take some time to discover. But yes, the seeds of truth are hidden within that play."
Heinrich guides his horse away from the crowd and rides off northward.
"Well, Zeheir and Evaline were really married," Rona chimes in. "And she really did die, from an unknown magical illness he couldn't cure. So that much is true, at least."
Morgan thinks on a few things but seems to go pale as she does not like the idea "I hate lazy ideas, must be a better way." She is muttering to herself forgetting people are around her.
"Maybe he's some kind of lich now, trying to keep her alive still." Aella's just throwing out random ideas-- preposterous, but worryingly possible, really.
"No, not so much a healthy way to end an occupation," Iolaire says, making her way to the crowd below. "It does sound an interesting tale, though! And *very* well done, it's been *ages* since I've seen a stage play!"
Morgan snaps too "Then he would have her soul and that would be hellish torture of itself."
Nightshade grows quiet for the time being, listening closely to what is said by others. In the meantime, she idly balances herself on the back of the chair she's perched upon. The best way to learn is to listen.
Zelany hmms at Aella's last suggestion. "That is quite worrisome, actually. I've a mind to continue doing research into his life." To Iolaire, the Gnome nods. "The district shows quite a few of them during the summer months, and the rare one during the colder times of the year. Most of them are shown indoors, though." Zelany moves to Yelrona's side, and tugs on her sleeve. "The disease was magical, but nothing more is known? That is quite telling. Do you know what the symptoms were?"
Yelrona shakes her head to Zelany. "I don't know the exact symptoms, the records are apparently incomplete... or at least, I haven't found complete ones. I've spoken a bit to the Altheans about it... they say such illnesses exist, though they're rare. Beyond that..." she shrugs, and repeats "I don't know."
Morgan lists off a few that are known. "If I caught any of them I would want to be killed."
Molly holds up her hands, "Woah, woah woah woah," she declares, "Slow down here a second. If this Zeheir guy is in fact real, and he really did stick around as a lich to get more time to try to bring his wife back from the dead as well, that's kinda beyond romance, yes? I mean I'm all for true love and maybe I'm taking this too seriously, but I'd hate to have to, y'know, hunt him down for being undead and all that."
Wild theories tossed out into the conversation, Aella's attention is soon distracted by something shiny over -there-, and the Egalrin wanders off.
"I don't think he's undead," Rona says judiciously. "Though I suppose it's possible. That said, apparently he developed techniques for travelling through time, so..." she shrugs. "I suppose anything is possible."
Nightshade shrugs her shoulders slightly. "I would say if someone truly did make themselves undead for this purpose, they need someone to usher them into oblivion because they've obviously lost their mind at some point. It's a mercy." The half-masked harlequin smiles, rolling up to her feet smoothly, which ends with her standing on the seat of her chair. "But that's a big ball of speculation it sounds like." She arches a brow at Rona. "Time travel? That sounds dangerous."
Iolaire blinks, tilting her head as she looks in Molly's direction. "...I... *do* believe the lich bit was largely idle speculation, though--" And as Yelrona beats her to the gossipy punch, the older bird chuckles. "I'd imagine so, and after a tale is told often enough it's very nearly impossible to sift the truth from the gilding. Finding out what truly happened would be a tale all its own, I'd expect."
Yelrona nods emphatically. "Yes."
Morgan shakes her head to Molly "Some questions to ask here, why lay wait for 1000 years...." she then speaks a bit up, "or she was reborn in some manner?"
Zelany nods to Yelrona, "That's another popular theory. And others have said that he transferred his consciousness into one of his Golems. Which is not dissimilar from being a lich." The white-haired Gnome fidgets a little, and then looks to the Elf again. "I'm going to go check it out!" Turning, the wee woman runs up the street, towards the scholarly and wizardly area of Alexandros.
"Transfering your mind to a golem?" Molly's brow furrows. "Does that count as undeath? ...I will have to ask the Abbot." She scowls once again, "Time travelling undead I definitely do not like to think about, I have no idea how you'd even deal with that." She pauses. "Another question for the Abbot." The young cleric flashes a grin at Iolaire, "It was, but one must never be idle about one's faith, yes? At least not if you plan on calling yourself a cleric."
Morgan relaxes in her seat "That would be a very grey area that mages have been arguing for very long... I so hate that debate."
Yelrona nods. "Undead, I know how to deal with. Time travel... I don't know. The Arcanists tell me it's not doable even in theory, but I've heard from people who claimed to experience it first-hand, and I'm fairly confident they weren't lying. So... I don't know. As for transferring minds... I can't see how that would be the same as undeath, honestly."
"It wouldn't be particularly sane," Nightshade comments on the topic of mind transferal. "Interesting. All very interesting." She is thoughtful as she stands atop the seat, before taking a bouncing step off. "Worth thinking about as a proper story idea." She starts to wander off slowly. However as she goes she glances towards Yelrona and notes, "A thing is only impossible until it isn't. Some lack vision." And so off the harlequin goes.
Morgan raises her hand. "I am one that found out the first time about his knowledge of time travel, I am two weeks older due to his tower..... hmmm." she is deep in thought again.
-End-