Prudento moved through the village with a familiar ease, his lute clutched tight to his body. Although he hadn't met with a fellow musician in quite some time, a small piece of him was somewhat excited about the prospect of playing music with another party involved.
The part of him that wanted that was very, very small however. The part that was still Komplezo, the wandering minstrel. Most of that personality was smothered by the madness that pervaded his thoughts, but the being in his head understood that to maintain control, it did to keep a little of the 'self' involved. Humans are greedy, selfish, and foolhardy, it had explained to him once. If you were naught but a mindless husk and my control of you was ever wrested from me, you would become a catatonic shell, wasting away without a mind or soul. Leaving that piece of you - that human piece - guarantees that you'll try everything in your power to get me back when I'm gone.
Prudento begrudgingly accepted that as fact. He had grown used to the spirits' influence. To its' power. No, even then 'used to' wouldn't be the right term. Dependent. That rang more truth to Prudento's addled mind.
Before he knew it, he had arrived at the house the invitation was to. Without a word, he tested the door and found it unlocked. Strange for a house in Zantaric. Even stranger when a needle trap or a fireball didn't hurtle through the doorway. He stepped in to find a well-lit room with five or six chairs arranged in a circle.
Nobody, however, was in the room.
He waited. And waited. He knew he had arrived earlier than the invitation had said, but after a full hour of sitting alone and tuning his lute, Prudento was becoming impatient.
When would another of these musicians arrive?
