Side A – Nia
It didn’t take long for news of Nia’s identity to spread. ‘The Drummer Who Outplayed the Sky’ wasn’t a title she’d foreseen anyone coming up with, but then she hadn’t been able to hear the performance that she and her drummers had put on from the audiences perspective either.
Apparently, as their song had gained in power and volume, it had not only drowned out the ones being played by the two “real” Shatter Bands, it had started to echo from beyond the bounds of music hall. There were standing bets which wouldn’t be resolved till the next day on whether the residents of Hammerdell, the next town over, had heard the performance with most of the smart money going towards “how could they possibly not have?”
As fast as her fame spread though, Nia raced to change the narrative from “the drummer” to “the drummers”.
“Do you seriously think a single drummer could play that loud? Above all the others? I mean, c’mon, you heard the song! We had so many drums in it! Couldn’t you hear the layers?”
Nia had started with that argument, but, since it was based on meaningless things like ‘reason’ and ‘obvious facts’ and ‘basic logic’, it absolutely failed to spark the imagination of anyone she tried to peddle it to.
“What the kid’s trying to say is that you lava brains are missing the real heroes of the hour,” Pelegar said. “You think this one did something great? You forgetting all your hometown drummers? Eh, I guess that’s what it’s like to have no pride at all, you know what I’m saying. It’s what happens when you lose as badly as Gray Rift did.”
Nia expected that to lead to a brawl. Under any other circumstances it would have, except for a few things. First, the fact that the Gray Rift players were right there and their local audience for damn sure wasn’t going to let them think they were anything except heroes too. More importantly though, the rest of the Frost Harbor team held the same opinion as the Gray Rift locals..
“Now you take that back! That was the best drumming I ever heard! They’re just being modest, cause they sure as hell got the talent to back it up!” one of the Frost Harbor drummer said, and quickly the sentiment spread throughout both bands.
Along with the fervent desire to smash the Gray Rift drummers unnecessary modesty and make sure they were enshrined as the champions they most certainly were.
“You owe me,” Pelegar said, her shout quiet enough to count as a whisper over the roar of the crowd.
“I owe all of you,” Nia shout-whispered back, loud enough for Pelegar and Margrada to hear.
“Now’s probably your best chance to escape,” Margrada said, nodding towards a a door which only had a few dozen people blocking it.
It was tempting, but the energy in the crowd was just a bit too intoxicating for Nia to pass up, no matter how hard she knew she was going to crash when it all went away.
“I’ve got one thing I want to do first,” she said, a terrible calculation of mischief filling her eyes with glee.
Side B – Yasgrid
The Darkwood wasn’t happy with Yasgrid, but as she passed through it, fear turned to confusion. She’d become something new. Something the Darkwood didn’t recognize. Something that was never supposed to walk within it.
But she wasn’t harming it.
Where she passed, Yasgrid gently brushed aside branches and stepped softly over new vines and shrubbery. A fallen nest lay in her path, but rather than treading on it thoughtlessly, or feasting on the eggs it still cradled, she lifted it up and placed it lightly back onto its branch, taking a moment to reweave it’s broken branches so it wouldn’t fall again.
At a stream, she took only a handful of water to wash her face of the ash and sweat she’d accumulated in the burning village.
Her touch didn’t foul the waters, and she took no more than she needed, slaking her thirst without draining the stream dry like a Trouble of Blight would.
The most puzzling thing though was the direction she picked.
The Darkwood, like all forests, had paths worn into it. On the routes where animals roamed, and people traveled, the vegetation was crunched down, and brushed aside. The paths offered the Darkwood as much definition as it’s borders and streams and other features and gave meaning to places which would otherwise be unremarkable.
There was a predictability in the paths which wound through the wood. Things walked or rode or rolled along them from one spot of interest to another.
But not Yasgrid.
She didn’t seem to have any interest in the places others went. It wasn’t that she was avoiding areas of Elven habitation though. Her wandering brought her across the outskirts of the next town to the north of the new village of the Rising Stones.
From the forest’s edge, she followed the small river which flowed through the town, and then branched away from it to take a turn through a free standing orchard which the town as a whole claimed ownership of.
From the trees, she took none of the fruit, though when she spied a newly fallen one, she scooped it up without hesitation, chomping into it and showing her delight at the sour sweetness it held.
From there she walked directly into the woods again, tree-leaping for a good half mile to be clear of the ground cover.
If the Darkwood could have formed words, it would have asked only one question; “Why?”
The answer was one which words would have been hard pressed to capture, so Yasgrid spoke it with her actions instead.
You don’t know me, she whispered to it. Not anymore. Not yet. But I am one of your children. Born far from here, and born of your leaves and branches, I am of you and alien to you. I am not what I was and not what I appear to be, but I am one of yours nonetheless, and you? You are my home.”