Barlai had started his day like any other - woke up, broke his fast, and set up where he usually did. He had played well through the morning when a newcomer showed up. He was a bard, seemingly from out of town. He carried a vitos case, and had began to entertain those near him, which was in Barlai's earshot.
"What song shall we give them today beloved?"
Barlai smiled at the thought of another musician, and took a break to listen. The bard was very talented; he sang and enthused his audience while playing. The song was a dark tale at first, chronicling heroes charging the front lines, with no holds barred. As the song progressed, the anticipation mounted. But it soon slowed, and quieted. An ambush was immanent, and the unlucky warriors met their fate. A quiet sonata took the song to a close, in memory of those lost.
But the bard did not stop there. Consoling his audience, he gave them a jig to pick up their spirits. And Barlai laughed quietly. This guy was very good. He doubted he could top the performance. But he would try. He needed something to eat, of course. And he was trying to save up some money. Barlai hummed softly, a new song in mind.
He readied his instrument, and opened with a chord, to break the silence. Those near him, his most frequent listeners, new a song was close, and began to listen themselves. Barlai began, with strong chords and a quick pace. The fast-paced song was about a journey over the sea, and though Barlai had never seen the sea, he could imagine it. The notes flashed up and down the scale, his bow in tempo. But the notes began to deepen, and the beat slow. A storm was approaching. It nearer closer and closer, and then it was upon Barlai. His eyes closed and his bow flashing to and fro, he added high notes to the fray, the storm malevolent, the journey in danger. And as the storm caused more and more damage, the notes became a shriek of fear and destruction.
But the storm began to slowly abate. It weakened, a glimmer in the soprano tone. It slowly let off, and as the sun began to shine, the song returned to a normal octave, the notes slower, fuller, and safer. When Barlai opened his eyes again, he finished the song with a long flourish, a sound note to silence. He smiled, and noticed many of the other bard's listeners had stood to watch. He put down his violin, and noticed it for a moment. He thanked the gods that it wasn't wretched like his; Barlai's violin was still quiet clean, and unbroken. Then Barlai felt the wetness on his figure. It was raining.
Drizzling, actually. The downfall was a mix between fog and rain, a slow, thick vapor. Barlai wondered it he had done this. The song was about a storm and all. He shook his head. It couldn't have been. He wasn't a magician or anything. Dismissing these thoughts, he turned to the newcomer, interested in where he was from, and why he was here.
