Glimpses 7 + 8

The Flows- 7

    Grohl slowly played a funeral march on his drums in the corner. He made it to five minutes and twelve seconds, a new record, when the cushion collided with him. 

    “Broken strings, it’s your fault we’re in this situation. It’s not like you had to set Roxanne's hair on fire.”   Jimmy groaned. 

    “All she did was chain skills together to sing her songs. She couldn’t even keep with the beat because she flubbed how long it would take her skill to return, and it was progressively getting worse. Is it too much to demand that a replacement singer actually has talent? The fans liked it, and I bought her a replacement wig.”

    “Which she needs, after it took a chunk of her hair with it!” Jimmy yelled back.

    “Boys, calm down. I’m sure we’ll find a new singer before our next performance. Every tavern is lousy with ones wanting to level up and gain exposure.”   Stiriling said slightly tipsy. She’d started drinking early. Only one mug, but her petite frame didn’t handle it well. 

    “It’s not like you’re any better.  You cut that one singer’s hamstrings mid-performance. We’re both lucky they didn’t go to the guards.”

    “That warbler wouldn’t stop jumping in front of me during my solo. I nearly crashed into her four times.”

    “Well, we’re getting a reputation,” Jimmy grumbled. 

    Grohl played a short drum roll. “ We just have to admit that The Flows without our Songstress are suffering. She’s got herself so wrapped up in setting up Harmony’s little kingdom that she doesn’t have time for us.”

    “I say we win her back!”  Stiriling yelled after a large swig.

    “You know she’s not going to abandon Harm while she’s in the games. And that is the one singer we can’t afford to lose.” Jimmy sighed.

    Grohl slammed his drumsticks down and stood up. “Then we have to make sure her work is completed quickly. When we do see her, she’s always complaining about not enough hands.”      

     Stiriling drained the last of her mug. “Work? We’re musicians, we’re doing this to get gold for free and companions for nothing.” 

    Jimmy walked over and rested his hand on the increasingly drunk fiddler’s head. “No, Grohl is right. And we need to stay out of the stage lights until the stories of our antics have calmed down. Then we can do a comeback tour.”

    “She’ll put us in those black uniforms, though. Maybe we can convince her to add some sparkle, maybe two rows of functionally useless gold buttons up and down the front?”  Stiriling murmured. 

    The trio all shared looks. Having already gone through several open auditions for a temporary singer, it was time to pick their poison.

    “Let’s report to White Manor for our new gig!” Grohl yelled. Stiriling, trying to join in on the action, stood up quickly, only to bend over and throw up. “After our fiddler sobers up.” He finished. 

Gustov - 8

    [Burial], Gustov focused his attention on his only necromancer skill on the pile of shit in the latrine. The manor’s plumbing, like the house in many spots, was still in disrepair.  That, combined with the growing staff, created this recurring problem.  “Focus. Connect to the dead waste and push it into the ground.”

    Shit was not a body. The skill was made to push targets into the earth. It was pretty good at shoving weak undead back into the ground and stilling them. The one chance he’d taken to run old bone’s first floor with an escort demonstrated how efficient that could be against shamblers.  This was a task Threnody assigned after reading through some of House White’s training documents that Ambrosia had assigned her to organize into a lesson plan. You had to focus on taking all that was once living, connect to it, and shove it into the earth.   

    Mental imaging set, the young necromancer activated [Burial]. A chunk of the pile churned downward. It burped up a cloud of gas that filled the already pungent room. Gustov fell to the side, choking and gagging. And Threnody wanted him to do this ten times! The hacking wouldn’t end.  Is this how he dies?

     “Are you okay in there?”  Called a woman’s voice, its tone flat but also musical. 

    Oh no! Gustov rolled over his position on the ground and pushed himself to his hands and knees. “Aagggk.” He cried, trying to tell the person not to come in, but instead produced that odd braying sound. 

    When the woman stepped in, the young man let himself look up, red-faced and teary-eyed at who had entered. He paled as this was one of the worst possible situations ever.  There would be nightmares about this moment to torture him awake and asleep.

    One of the most beautiful maids hired stood there. Perfectly symmetrical, perfect skin, and a face that looked like it was sculpted out of marble by an artist trying to capture a look that could take away one’s breath. Bea, and looking at her was not unlike the feeling he’d gotten when Lady White spoke at The Grave Society. They worked different schedules, so there had only been glimpses during shift change. Why was she here now?

    “Are you well?” She asked flatly, with no look of scorn, amusement, or annoyance at Gustov’s state. Such still composure, Gustov wished he could achieve. 

    “Yes.” He finally squeezed out. “This task is a bit rank, Miss Bea; it’s taking some embarrassment to do it.”

    “For Lady White, no task in her name, no matter how… rank… should hold embarrassment. Be proud to work for such a woman. Gustov, since you share her sacred class, you must perform it with pride, no matter how difficult. Though I can see I’ve not missed anything by avoiding this location. Now that you’re well again, keep calm and carry on. I’ll leave you to your task.”

    Gustov felt his heart quake. She knew his name! Her presence made him tingle. He bowed. “ Of course, Miss Bea, I’ll do my best.”

    By the time he straightened, the maid was gone. Something about her lingered in the air. A sweet, earthy, peaceful smell that made you want to lie down and rest, overpowered the stench of the room. One did not disappoint the picture of perfection. With renewed vigor, Gustov returned his attention to how best to [Bury] the challenge he faced.