Submission (#5576) Approved

Having walked through the autumnal forests of red and orange leaves and brush, following the scratched markings within the birch trunks of white, Basa enters a town and immediately walks along the dirt path to what looks like a tavern. He needs to find a place to rest while he stays in town, of course, but a drink in a bustling tavern sounds just about right to discern the townsfolk and guesstimate how many of them might benefit him. His pomu, who had been chittering on his shoulder the entire time traveling here, has fallen silent as she stares at all the buildings in awe. Thank goodness, he thinks to himself.

The tavern was as warm coloured as the region of Bellmoril it resided in, a wooden interior that still gave the feel of fall. They kept with the colour scheme with little contrast, even having orange and yellow flora dotting the tables. A smile suddenly plastered on his face, he nods and cheerfully greets others as they recognize him. He was well known by a collection due to his work, as well as due to his luck. He wondered just what they would want out of him, and how he could use that to his advantage. His pomu, meanwhile, was more shy and had attempted to nestle into Basa’s short hair to hide herself. Seating himself on a stool of light birch, Basa smiles and asks the bartender for a cool drink, whatever they might prefer themself. A soft chitter escapes his locks and he chuckles before also asking for a glass of water for his companion, who peeks her head out to size the bartender up and down.

Perhaps a minute goes by as Basa nonchalantly glances at the tavern guests beside him, that a single piano note is struck. It rings inside his ears as they perk up instinctively, a sound that he would never forget. Basa shifts a little, only to subtly look out of the corner of his eye towards the sound that holds his heart in an ice cold grip. There, standing around a lovely piano, were a group of elnin talking and laughing as they tapped on the keys. A gaggle of fools, he immediately discerns, and while that would usually be a bemusing thought, he can’t help but feel irked at the way they handle the instrument before them. Not even playing the notes in a tune, nor attempting a chord of harmony, they dabbled with the piano with absent minded note strikes that sounded both horrendous and disrespectful to music itself. I could be playing it correctly, show them how it’s done, at this very moment. . . he quickly chases the thought away. He doesn’t play for others anymore.

That said, the thought persists, as if playing a game of cat and mouse within his mind as he watches the elnin laugh and joke and lightly hit one another, worried that they might hit each other too hard and fall onto the piano itself. He watches as they are suddenly called away, and breathes a sigh of relief unconsciously that they are now gone. The thought arises once again, and he rises out of his chair to approach the piano. He’ll only be checking it out, surely, that’s all. The moment he got close enough his eyes scanned the instrument. Basa takes note of the carvings in the wood, some articulate from the day the piano was made ; the Bellmoril eldertree itself, pure white trunk spanning the entire lid as a lovely contrast to the black staining, dappled with yellow leaves. Certainly this piano was built for Bellmoril. The other carvings, obviously scratched into by drunkards as if laying their mark on the tavern ; Basa feels a sense of amusement at the desperation that probably lies within those sharpened marks.

Basa traces the keys, taking a sharp inhale at the familiarity. Surely it would be okay to play a few notes. . . His pomu, as if sensing his desire, pops out of her hiding place within his hair and hops onto the lid of the piano, turning only to sit comfortably and stare eagerly at Basa. The green elnin withholds a laugh ; his familiar was the encouragement he needed. He settles his hands into position, and begins to play. It is a slow melody, melancholic in nature. Soft yet building waves of emotion that Basa becomes lost in as it envelops him entirely. Suddenly he is no longer in the autumn landscape of Bellmoril, away from the high cliff tops and the roaring rivers within the forests. He can feel himself being pulled into memories of the past, noting a book from his childhood placed back onto the shelves of the library his mother held so dearly ; a garden of roses that was protected by glass from the weather of Ahza. Basa’s brows furrow as he pushes them away, but there is a hint of a tone change within the music he plays. Still melancholic, but a feeling of wishfulness too.

It isn’t until the music slows to a soft melody once again, before lulling to a stop that Basa returns to his senses. He opens his eyes, being met with glances and stares from the people who came to the tavern to enjoy drinks, not melancholy. A sense of regret washes over him, a worry that perhaps they had been passengers of his memories and feelings like he had been. Surely not, right ? They wouldn’t be able to know. Basa stands from the piano, startling his pomu companion who hurriedly rushes to climb onto Basa’s shoulder once again. He glances out of the corner of his eye as he turns to leave, taking note of the potential money opportunities ; and yet, he can’t bring himself to smile to attract business.

He didn’t even get to drink, having left a pale ale and a small cup of water on the countertops that won’t be enjoyed. Basa didn’t feel like drinking anymore, though, as he steps out of the town into the forest of dappling lights and reds, oranges, and yellows to take a breather.