#jezebelle vidala

[embersoftheorder]

NPC face claim - Jaime Murray

Jezebelle Vidala A voice like embers.

Lute strings were plucked with concentrated ease as if no matter how many times they have been used for a song they still needed to remember. Remember the tension. The soft pain to tips. Strength of each pluck. Memory of a song.

'Undo this storm Undo this storm Undo this storm and wait I can't control withering wonders Flowers that lose their shape.'

Her voice carried gently through the Empire's Edge with softness but clarity as each line was spoken to match the instrument. Those words would flow from a mouth that had spun a hundred tales, a thousand songs, and a million barbs. Some were harsh; many gentle; and mostly truthful.

'I lie awake and watch it all It feels like thousand eyes I lie awake and watch it all It feels like thousand eyes.'

The stanza was completed again as she continued on with her song. It didn't feel like an appropriate tavern ditty or something someone could even imagine requesting. And it felt odd. It felt wrong.

'I'll be the calm I will be quiet Stripped to the bone, I wait No, I'll be a stone, I'll be the hunter A tower that casts a shade.'

Again it rose with her voice, strength rising but never volume. The volume in the tavern was receding as the song caught energy to it, filling the empty space in the room. A stifling warmth was causing some to look about in search of the innkeeper to perhaps make the call to change it. It should stop. It needed to stop.

'I lie awake and watch it all It feels like thousand eyes I lie awake and watch it all It feels like thousand eyes I lie awake and watch it all It feels like thousand eyes.'

As the woman's voice continued on with the opus, someone called out for it stop. But it kept gaining, the empty space expanding with her sound to squeeze all those in the common together. It was oppressive and heavy as hands gripped cups tighter and shouts tried to rise above the music. But it was getting louder but her voice was still so level. It had to stop. There was a cry into the wind of the words to please make it end, but she would not stop.

And then it stopped.

Silence.

No one spoke. No one moved. Was it just a dream? It was just a song. There was too much to drink. Uncomfortable laughter followed to match with creak chairs and floor boards. Orcs and humans stood up to leave. Men and women cast cautious gazes about to each other, the deep fear of the night that had plagued their ancestors settling in stomach. It didn't care about wealth. It didn't care about race. It didn't care about prestige.

It cared about blood.

'I am the storm I am the storm I am the storm So wait.'

A smile came to those lips again as she closed her song, gently resting her fingers from the frets and to caress the body of her weapon. She had gotten what she wanted.

From across that tavern, a pair of hard blue eyes knew what she had wanted and gotten. Despite his training and will, he could feel it into his bones and heart. But the witch hunter was used to it.

And he was patient.

@damien-ward