Christoph

Christoph's Journey

The journey back to Asgra was long and arduous, and it seemed that there was not a soul on the road. Sitting on my horse, my eyes stung from the wind, and my bones were chilled by the fierce weather that found me without the warmth of suitable clothing. At times it seemed that my eyes and mind summoned forth a specter that haunted the trip: a dark figure slinking off into the field. Shortly afterwards I realized that, in my addled state, I had taken a wrong turn. Later reflection would make it obvious that in fact there had been no hallucination - the figure had switched the road signs, and this was the reason for my delays.

Those delays cost me hard, but I did arrive home, albeit a day late. I thought nothing of the incident for some short time, because I had forgotten, or just not realized, the true significance of events several days before.

I was in Ahk, returning home after spending months traveling. I had showed my musical prowess in Mystlar and Riens, and made a hassle-filled trip into Tienna Mar, fraught with difficulties caused by prohibited items the origin of which I am not certain - they were not mine. But it was the Display in Ahk that was direct cause of these new events.

It was, in fact, the third time I had seen Benton Metherell at one of my Performances. The first two had been peaceful enough, even good shows, as my music met receptive audiences in those places. I could draw Strength from their dance, from their appreciation, but I did not understand how tainted this Power was. After the second of these shows, Metherell had left a note. "Good" and also "Show" were his only words, but I had refused to speak to him more, for I knew that his Force was not what I was looking for.

This third Event was terrifying. He accosted me in in advance and he spoke thusly: "You have turned away from me at our last meeting, but I will not be ignored. Christoph: I hold the key to your success in Asgra and beyond. Even here, your Power is not so strong as mine. You must...join with me."

I shook my head, but he insisted. He would speak to me again, after the show. After I had considered it properly. He would not be ignored, he said. The show did not go as planned. Strings broke, the people talked, and the first half was wasted. In my nervousness I played poorly, and I glanced cautiously at the corner in which Metherell sat. I was Afraid.

But no, this was not a true Performance. I had to change it, somehow. I stood up, my Instrument restrung, and with my Chords I woke the slumbering minds and feet of the people. They stood, they danced. They enjoyed themselves in a gratuitous fashion.

Finally, I spoke across the room in words of song to Metherell. "You will find no slave here."

But he was not so easily defeated, and returned my blast of sound in a scowling shout: "fool! I will not take these insults from you. Do you know who I am, Christoph? I am The Best Musician in Asgra. You cannot escape my wrath, for you have sealed your doom for yourself. I will stop at nothing to destroy you and your pseudo-intellectual ironic musical fantasy. Your life is on the brink of collapse and will bring you down with it. You are getting tired, and soon you will have to find a Real Job."

With that he left, flinging one last sentence at me through the doorway. "I will see you in Asgra."

When I had finally made it home, this event had all but slipped my mind. I had far more pressing concerns, such as sleeping after the long trip. But soon enough, Benton Metherell showed his visage once more.

I was playing in a tavern, in Asgra. I had just completed my first set, and although the music was Powerful enough, the people were not moved. A terrifying theory was beginning to form in my mind - that they were hirelings of Metherell, sent here to disrupt my Art, or something far, far worse, a creation of his dark Magicks. During my brief break, I was approached by the barkeeper. Like me, he was Afraid, and it was written on his face. He shakingly extended his hand towards me, passing me a note. "I am coming," it said, and I knew immediately who its bearded writer was - there could be no other author than Metherell.

My Display ended, and I knew I had to get out swiftly, before Metherell's people struck. They were all around, their open empty eyes staring at the perpetrator of the non-bland music that had assaulted their ears, giving minimal quantities of mindless applause. Soon, if I did not get out, it would be too late. I sped out into the dark street, my Instrument at the ready, along with my sword. And I was accosted, as expected. Thugs were laid low swiftly enough with a burst of Powerful Sound, but Metherell himself soon followed, and his own grating sounds were too much for me and my lute to compete against. Again, I fled. But I knew where I had to go.

I leaped to my horse and sped away, but he was swift in pursuit. Without even a mount of his own, he was close at my tail. Reaching my destination, I dismounted and backed into the building - the mill, after kicking the door open. This was to be the site of my last stand, if it should be neccessary. The Gears ran in the background, running on the water in the night, and from these Machines I could maybe draw the Power I needed to fight of the dark forces Metherell Commanded.

Soon enough, the Best Musician in Asgra entered. I stood in the dark behind a table, the animal figurines in my backpack set out around me. I needed everything close at hand, ready to fuel the Powers of the Sound. He strode forth and fired off a blast from his Instrument, and I returned it from mine, before bringing my voice to bear.

For what seemed like hours, we struggled there, the clashing Sounds echoing off of the walls, the upset and rudely awakened miller standing at the door. Into the early morning we battled, and a few spectators stopped to watch our battle as we strode around, in and out of the millhouse, surrounded by the reverberating Music. I could draw power from some few of them, but Metherell had more support, I am sure. Finally, something snapped. The sun showed itself above the buildings, its rays piercing the disgusting fog of the city, the seagulls awaking on the coast not far off and adding their cries to the terrifying mix. Then, with a cry of anguish, Metherell flung down his Instrument, splintering it, and sped away. I collapsed, exhausted from the combat.

I came to perhaps an hour later. The people had left. I picked myself up and gathered up my belongings. I knew then that I had little time. Metherell's defeat would not last long, and soon he would be back. I had not escaped his fury yet, and I needed some New Material.