Legends of Belariath

Vysanth

The Quest for the Harp

When Vysanth's beloved Harp got separated from him. As related by Tsunami.

It was a good and restful day, he decided, as he emerged from the stream, feeling the rivulets run off his shiny black fur, and the scarlet streaks within them seemed to be dimmed today. The shine of the harp that had accompanied him into the water shone brightly, almost cheekily back at him, and in response he reached out with his other hand and stroked its smooth, glistening curved surface with a gently contented smile, ignoring his tunic that lay on the ground. Almost reluctantly, he set it aside, moving away from it as he shook his fur dry, then returning back he picked up his tunic. He did not don it immediately, but using the ragged yet dry cloth to polish the gold sheen of his instrument lovingly, humming a softly melodious tune as he saw to it that there would be no watermarks left upon its gilded surface.

Satisfied with his handiwork, he slipped into his ragged tunic and set upon it his belt, before stretching languidly again by the stream, the light coming in from the trees shining off his sleek coat. Not that it mattered, though, for while Vysanth was physically scarred, his fur was as fine as that of any of his kindred, but he had no eyes for himself. In his mind's eye he would always be a scarred wretch of a ragged vagabond, with a past he would rather not dwell on. And there too, in his mind's eye, was his harp, golden, exquisite, perfect, to him, his sole expression of his solace, and through which all troubles and cares in this world were made simple.

He knew there would be more intricate, more majestic, more regal instruments, jewel-studded even, but for him this was his expression of what he saw as his redeeming quality - his ability to produce as fine a music as might be hailed upon from the minstrels of the land, a skill that he tempered unknowingly in his love for it. It was more a love than a passion, but nevertheless it ran in his blood, and kept him going at times. As for physical gratification, while he was not one to miss out on such entertainment, it was just a sideline for it, and if an expression of himself, a lesser expression than when his fingers ran over his harp, and he was one with the music.

Reaching out for the harp as he settled down comfortably in the shade by the stream, he let the whisper of the soft notes caress his ears, lingering upon him, coaxing him comfortingly as he withdrew his hand from its strings. Though he was alone, it felt good to have such a voice bid him sweet dreams, as he closed his eyes, grateful and content in his repose, and the mid-afternoon sun above seemed to smile cheekily at him where he lay.

===============

He was walking along the stream, relaxing after a good day of fishing. Two large trout lay in his basket, more than enough for a good dinner, and the weather was good for an unhurried walk back home with his fishing rod over his shoulder. The golden light of the evening sun gleamed off the surface of the water, and amidst the long shadows cast by the trees other things gleamed, generally gold even when it was not.

There was a sharp intake of his breath as he realized what he looked upon.

Or was it' gold'

Softly, the halfling padded over, his eyes growing rounder and rounder as he looked upon the harp, gleaming in the evening sun. Beside the instrument a black catperson lay in unconscious slumber, as told by the gentle rise and fall of his ragged tunic. He was, however, a minor detail as the harp took in all his attention, its gold surface unabashedly absorbing all his attention.

That could buy me enough for'!

His imagination went wild, as he envisaged fields of tomatos and potatos and pumpkins, orchards of apples and oranges and pears' and even people to take care of them! He should never have worry about food again! Fed well for the rest of his life'!

His eyes narrowed anyway, even as he looked upon the feline asleep, one grubby, furred hand still stretched out towards the harp, holding its base rather loosely. No doubt some thief or wretch who had stolen it from his rightful owners, he thought. There would only be justice, and no shame, to relieve this vagabond of his ill gotten goods.

===============

Vysanth awoke to an oddly uneasy sleep. He couldn't remember what it was he dreamt about, but it certainly had certainly put him on the wrong foot. Ah well, it was not a problem, he thought. Since at least it was not a nightmare about the past, and after all, his harp would always be there waiting for'

A cold sliver of fear shot up his spine, as his hands closed about nothingness.

NO!

He sat bolt upright, as the sun almost slipped into its bower, his one eye staring around in shocked surprise, searching desperately for his instrument.

NO!

A slight smell of fish lingered, and quickly, his mind not even thinking clearly, he rose, like a shade winging through the trees, in thirsting search for vengeance, upon the trail where his nose led him. His lithe form sped, his large bounding run catlike and graceful amidst the trees as the shadows deepened, and his ear pricked up as he thought he heard some neighs in the direction of the road, which was a fair distance away from where he was, and anxiety coursed through his veins as fear lent him wings.

As though in a a bad dream, no, a nightmare, he saw through the flickering trees a gathering of people, mounted on horses, and heard a cry of consternation, followed by the raucuous laughter of some horsemen. He could barely make out the golden sheen as one the riders flourished something over his head, even as Vysanth drew near in haste, and another cry, this time that of pain, as a squat figure was seemingly kicked aside by one of the riders to the side of the road, a basketful of fish landing upon the ground and spilling. The spurs bit in as the horsemen moved off, he could vaguely hear cursing of the squat person, probably a Halfling rather than a dwarf by the sound of it, but he had no time to bother with the original thief. Still some distance within the forest, he quickly followed the riders from amidst the trees, his own pinions pumping as the men rode off at a light canter. Inside him he prayed that they would stop to set up camp soon.

===============

He had lost them, for the moment, but the smell of burning wood told him they must have set up camp somewhere, and the scent of the horses guided him to where they veered off the road. The light of some campfire flickered at him from between the trees as he drew near, and the soft muffled screams of a high pitched, youthful female voice ' clearly some unfortunate waylaid by them, no doubt. Not that it mattered to him, he thought, as he watched the camp from a distance. Most of the men were still awake, one on guard as another cooked, with the horses tethered off to one side. Mentally he took note, especially that there were five steeds, before settling back into the bushes, taking time to think a little, and stretch himself. He could ill afford to let the tension wear him out, his harp being too important for him to even contemplate the possibility of failure.

It was quite a while later before the cries subsided, and he gathered enough fragments of an idea about it. Admittedly he was not at his best in such an element ' normally he would simply run away, from all and any confrontations. Not without his harp though - that was never an option. Combat was something he was not particularly fond of, and it had the common propensity of going ugly. While he was not squeamish about blood in the least, there were considerable qualms about having it spill to the ground, especially his own blood.

As for his dagger, which his hand absently brought up before his face, it seemed much more appropriate for skinning rabbits, and now that he thought of it, while he had been in combat of sorts before, it involved taking cover or running away while someone else fought. The iron claw within his tunic, linked to his belt, pressed against his fur at this point, but though he could well envisage it sticking into someone's guts, it only brought a frown to his face' it was simply too heavy. Vysanth almost regretted buying it off the Barbarian for a considerable discount, for while he had every intention to use it, it was still too unwieldy for him to get used to. As things were the thing was probably more a liability, should he get into a really closed quarters. If he wanted to get through this mess with his fur intact, he would be thinking of ways to simplify the matter.

The night deepened, darkening shadows gathering around, broken only by the spasmodically dancing flames of the campfire, with one lone figure by it, tending to the embers as he cast a wary eye about. One gleaming eye watched the man from the shadows of the undergrowth, before vanishing behind some cover. Overhead a pallid moon shone out from behind the clouds, and if there were stars in the Prussian blue blanket above, the clouds hid it. It was almost as gloomy a night as it had been fine a day.

There was a sound, breaking through the silence of the night, that of cantering hooves, from the direction of the road, that seemed to drawing closer, and the form by the firelight stirred, rising and drawing away from the fire, to see who would arrive on the scene. The sounds of the hooves slowed, and there was a soft neigh as the unseen rider brought his steed to a halt, but there was still no one in sight. Creeping closer, the camp guard moved, his shadow melding into one with those of the trees as he waited to see who it was who approached.

There was a soft sound of rustling leaves, and he started, in shock, as a thick, wooden bough fell to the ground right in front of him, just missing his head by inches. He had just the sense to try to look up when, the next moment a weight fell upon him, and he briefly felt a cool, steely touch about his neck, before something struck the back of his head, and he pitched forward.

There was a grunt, as the dark figure on top of him rolled off, rubbing its bruised shoulder. "Crap..." came the soft whisper, as one eye gleamed out of the darkness, looking at the unconscious man with some consternation. "I missed!"

His assailant remained where he was a moment longer, stopping a while to catch his breath, to slow the rush of blood against his temples sufficiently for him to think clearly, and recovering from casting the Distraction spell. Well, at least I didn't have to kill him, he thought to himself, as he reached over to the man. One dark clawed hand closed around the man's sword, lifted it, then let go of it, grunting a little in disgust, though whether at the weight of the weapon or at his own weakness, none could know.

Shrugging it off, the figure proceeded to move towards the camp, taking care to keep within the shadows and outside the glow of the fire, his lithe catlike grace serving him well as he came upon the closest tent. Slowly, carefully, he lifted the edge of the tent entrance, peering in, just the side of his face showing.

A pair of frightened blue eyes stared back at him, from the other side of the tent, and full, rosy lips parted, about to give vent to a' Quickly, almost desperately, his hand came up to his lips, silencing her, as he let his whole head slip in, and poor girl froze in mid-scream as she realized he was not one of her abductors. Extending one hand towards her in an assuaging manner, as he crept into the tent, his whisper was heard softly.

'Miss, please, don't be alarmed' I mean no harm.' His eye rapidly runs over her features, taking in her vibrant blonde hair, the shadows just hiding what might be the tear streaks along her comely, innocent seeming face, her bare, perfect full breasts heaving up and down, exposed by her hands being bound behind her back. Her skin was very fair, almost invitingly so, albeit marred by two red marks about her stomach, probably where she had been slung over the horse and had been pressed against the saddle. The milky softness between her legs was covered by her thighs, clenched tightly together as she drew her knees up, with her ankles were bound together. From behind her back, surmounting her petite, almost childish seeming beauty, were a pair of wings, feathery white even in the dark, and bound together near the middle of their length. No doubt in the light of day where the torian belonged they would be even ivory seeming' an altogether exquisite specimen of a torian, yet she somehow looked vaguely familiar, although he was certain if he chanced upon her in the inn, he would have remembered.

'Me' not going to hurt'' She whispered plaintively, struggling in her bonds to try to bring her knees up to cover her breasts, but only in the process exposing her pink slit and firm ass to him, almost subconsciously squirming away from his gaze, bashfully. 'Help'' She bit her lip, uncertainly, fear mixing with some hope written in her blue eyes. Vysanth swallowed, turning away from her a moment. Certainly most men would do to her what the bandits had, but he was not here for such things and he loathed such despicable acts. Focus, he told himself, his gaze checking the tent. No harp hereabouts, but, scattered about the various paraphernalia, some cattraps and a pair of boots with spurs caught his eye. Bending down to scoop them up, he paused slightly, considering if the black, long thin leather whip on the floor might prove useful, before leaving it untouched - no doubt it was for the use of the deviants in this camp in abusing whoever they might.

'Sir'' came the whimpering voice, pleadingly, and he spun back to look at her again. While he had not really forgotten her, he had been trying to put her out of his mind, and looking at her was distracting, to say the least. 'Help' please'' She struggled with her leg bonds, in the process her butt twisting, emphasizing her slit beneath. Biting his lips, trying to keep his head and fight his instincts, he made a sudden move towards her, his dagger flashing out. There was a gasp of fear and surprise as her eyes caught the glint in the dark, but the next moment the bonds around her ankles loosened, and almost in relief she let her legs fall to the floor, spreading her legs. Vysanth swallowed again, wrenching his gaze away from her luscious yet tight seeming entrance, reminding himself she probably did so to get the feeling of not having her legs together as she had been tied that way for who knows how long. Not wishing to prolong this any longer, he quickly stepped up and, holding her hands lest he cut her, sliced her bonds about her wrist.

'There, you are free to go, miss.' He looks at her, as she stares up at him uncertainly, and her fearful vulnerability makes him almost want to do something to her. 'Try to get some clothes, and get as far away from here as you can.' So saying, he turned from her, even as she got up a little unsteadily, one hand covering her breasts, before bent down to find something, probably clothing. He pauses a while as he is about to exit the tent, expecting her to say something, at least some acknowledgement or thanks, but when there is a silence except for the sounds of her searching, he shrugs his shoulders, a little disappointed, deciding to quickly return to the search for his harp as his hand pushes the tent flap away.

'Sir'' came her soft, sweet voice again.

'Yes'' he said, a little too quickly, making to move around, before he felt a sudden strong pressure on his throat. 'Hrrk!' he gasped, his hands coming up to his throat, grabbing at leather about his neck, almost cutting off his air. There was a sharp, strong pull from behind him, and he toppled backwards, having just sense enough to twist his body, landing heavily on his shoulder. 'Ackk'' His claws strained at the ever tightening black leather, in vain, as he felt someone drag him backwards with remarkable strength, and struggling, was forced to move with it. There was a soft, girlish giggle, and he fought, turning on his back to look up at her, shock and fear written all over his face. Sitting down she was facing him as she drew him closer, her breasts heaving slowly up and down, and her pleasure at seeing him thus is written all over her face, with a reproving edge to her lips as she whispered.

'Can't go without helping' not nice,' she chuckles again, almost sinisterly, as she spread her legs open, the same time the whip tightening around his fingers, as she pulled him towards her entrance. He swallowed, feeling his excitement build, and his fingers were so tightly into the whip at his neck that he realized she would be react to it long before he could pull it out, and that left him in a veritable fix. Her hand came behind his head as she pulled him over, and he could almost smell her arousal from where he was, his lips almost touching her pussy, looking at her pink and exposed flesh, glimmeringly wetly in the dark, eagerly awaiting him to pleasure her. He was now conscious of his shaft pressing against the floor, even as he looked at her, her hunger almost palpable.

No' I must retrieve my harp!

Wracking his brains, he saw that she was still close to where she was when he found her, near wall of the back of the tent, where the main support for one side of the tent was, and he flicks out his tongue slowly as he wriggles himself closer, his legs bunching up beneath him as he feels her warm moisture against his tongue, and her body quivers as she moans, before murmuring softly, 'Faster' more''

Well, that's what you'll be getting' more of me, and faster'

His muscles flexing, Vysanth sent his body hurtling forward against her, his head hitting against her breasts and stomach, the musk of her arousal filling his nostrils as he felt her body fall backwards from where she was sitting, to a cry of surprised pleasure. For a moment it was all he could to resist the impulse to hold her and hug her and lick her and have his way with her, then the rod supporting one side of the tent fell as her body fell back against the rod with the combined momentum of both their weights, and the next moment the tent collapsed on top of them.

A sigh of relief as he rolled away from on top of her, the tension around the whip reducing as the cry of surprise from her changed to that of dismay, and he managed to quickly pull it out over his head as he struggled in the fallen tent, then his dagger fought to slice open the canvas as he crawled away. For a moment it seemed as if that would not be possible, before the canvas suddenly gave way, and with speed borne of desperation, for there was no telling how many of the bandits would already be roused by the commotion, he cut his way out into the cool night air. Barely even stopping to catch his breath, for they would surely stir anytime now, he rushed into the closest tent, his eye searching in the dark anxiously.

A glint of gold ' his harp, at last! Yet a movement on the ground gave him just time enough to draw back as the man who had been resting on the ground sprang to his feet, sword leaving his scabbard as Vysanth drew back, in surprised consternation at not having seen him. What a rude shock the 'captive' must have given him, he muses to himself, to incapacitate his senses so, and while the man was half-dressed, his sword was no less menacing, especially as it looked as if a swing was about to come at him. Yet the glint of the harp made his thoughts race like lightning in his mind, nimbly, and his hand quickly reached up, lifting up his eyepatch over his right eye. In fact, he could always see perfectly well with both his eyes, but he generally kept it covered, for a good reason.

Within the tent, the man's eyes widened as he saw a single glowing reddish glow piercing the darkness, one green pupil staring balefully at him, the darkness in its centre seeming to grow, the heart of something sinister seeming to reach out to want to consume him. The next moment the figure lifted up two fingers at him, and something struck him in the chest, sending him staggering back, his sword arm growing numb as the figure grabbed the harp and left in through the entrance in a flourish.

Once outside the tent, his heart pounding with fear, Vysanth ran as fast as he could towards the horses, his harp clutched tightly under his arm. He was not sure, perhaps behind he could hear the ripping sound of the fallen tent behind him, as if it were being shredded apart by a multitude of blades, and as he ran he mustered just enough sensibilities to scatter the cattraps on the ground before the two other tents that he passed by on the way to the horses, as well as leaving some behind him.

Coming upon the horses he heard some cries of alarm, before they turned into those of pain, as the men emerging from their tents came to appreciate the cattraps, and quickly donned the boots, before his dagger sliced through the ropes tethering horses. There was a tense moment as he struggled atop the horse, and there was a soft zing as an arrow flashed by his torn ear. Adrenaline pumping, he dug his sthe next moment he was riding off towards the cover of the forest.

It seemed bare moments later that he heard the neighs as the other riders mounted and drove their own steeds forward, as he and his own mount vanishing amidst the trees, and, being no horseman, added to the fact that he had only one hand with which to rein the horse in as the other one was clutching the harp, he made up his mind. Digging the spurs into his steed one last time, Vysanth took a deep breath as he dived headfirst towards the undergrowth, rolling as he hit the ground even as his steed galloped off ahead, the sound of its pounding hooves and the undergrowth resounding in the dark as he caught his breath in cover, pressing his harp against the dirt and leaves to try to cover it even as he held on to it.

As he crawled away silently, he heard the thunder of more riders, with the menacing shine of drawn swords in the dim night about them, sweeping past him in unrelenting pursuit after their supposed target. Heaving a sigh of relief as the last of them vanished in the direction of the road, Vysanth rose to a half crouch, quickly loosening his boots before kicking them off, then making off into the night, towards the denser areas of the forest where the foliage would provide more cover and horses could not easily follow.

Heaving a sigh of relief as he emerged into another clearing, relatively far removed from the camp, he paused to take a breath, caressing his harp tenderly. Back at last, was his companion on so many roads, through so many journeys, returned to his side by no small dint of effort. Even then, he frowned as he felt the touch of dirt against the metal, and set it down against the ground, before settling down in preparation to use the edge of his tunic to try to polish the surface clean.

A hot streak of pain lanced down from his shoulder, a metal point ripping through his tunic to graze his shoulder, and the sensation caused him to instinctively roll away and dive towards cover. He found himself behind a wooden log, and while exceedingly grateful as he found himself once again indebted to his harp for saving his life, the brain told him told him that this was about as far as his instrument would help for this night, even as another surge of adrenaline rushed through him.

The unseen attacker chuckled, before emerging from the undergrowth, walking slowly towards the harp, slinging his bow behind his back. 'Come on out, wherever you are, my dear kitty kitty,' came the taunt, and the person's movements over the distance was relatively swift and soundless, his slender but tall and solid built betraying his lineage as a half-elf, and probably a ranger. In his hand he twirled a curved blade listlessly in his fingers, the ease of motion gait clearly demonstrating his proficiency with the weapon.

So that's how he was able to see me in the night' Vysanth noted, berating himself for not accounting and checking for such a possibility. Nonetheless, there was little for it but to prepare for engagement, clutching his dagger tightly as he prepared to launch himself at the enemy.

Like red striped black panther did the enemy beheld him from the corner of his eye, glint of steel in hand as he pounced out from his cover, aiming for his quarry's chest. The half-elf turned rapidly, darting his body aside as his scimitar flashed out, aiming for Vysanth's dagger, but he just managed to twist his wrist back to parry the blow in midair, before landing on the ground and rolling to his feet, unscathed but with his initiative lost. A soft chuckle accompanied the swish of the scimitar as it cut through the air, aiming at his chest, and as their weapons connected to the soft sound of ringing steel, his foe flicked his hand down, the blade drawing a deep red groove across the back of Vysanth's hand as the bard yelped in pain, dropping his weapon.

Damned! Vysanth thought, but already a stroke came whistling down upon his thigh, and he desperately threw himself backward, knocking his breath out as he landed against the forest floor, his bleeding right hand inside his tunic. The bandit smiled, stepping forward and cutting down to his left side, where he thought the hand would be, aiming to finish either his foe or his foe's sword-arm. The weapon swept down, and the smile widened to a grin as it cut through the cloth of the ragged tunic, but there was a metallic ring as it struck something, and he started in surprise.

Quickly seizing the respite, Vysanth twisted himself away off the forest floor, drawing his iron claw from within his tunic in a flourish, a move that he quickly found a little excessively artistic as he felt the strain on his muscles. Nevertheless he struck forward with it quickly, trying to get a good blow before his enemy recovered his composure, seemingly striking for his enemy's chest, but the half-elf was already on his toes. In reality, it was but a feint, yet as Vysanth dropped his arm downwards to gut his enemy, the claws dipped their angle, and the half-elf managed to react just in time to parry the blow. The look of cockiness finally faded from the bandit's face, turning into that of annoyed consternation, before he lashed back, slicing the scimitar upwards at the catperson's left shoulder and neck.

Vysanth swore, for with his claw still low and the weapon being a little heavy for him he could almost feel the bloody gash along his upper body, but amazingly, the claw swept back up as his right arm curled back in time, a move born more of instinct and need than anything else. The scimitar slipped between the slits of the claw, bare inches from his shoulder, and he was just recovering from the exertion of using the claw, when the scimitar sideways within the claw suddenly curving to the right, the momentum causing his arm to twist awkwardly up then down under the force, the weight of the claw working against him, leaving him woefully exposed as the half elf's other hand shot over across, fingers seizing him by the throat.

Well at least that was not a dagger, Vysanth managed to mock himself even as he felt the half-elf try to squeeze the life out of him, gathering his thoughts as he managed to croak out a few syllables, and an invisible rush of air slipped from him, slamming into the half elf and knocking him back. As the bandit staggered back, momentarily stunned, he quickly leaped back and away, his throat aching as his left hand closed about his harp, before he heard a sudden voice from some distance behind him.

'Ooh' nice fight,' came the sound as that of a girlish little thing, sounding a awed and fearful, but his heart sank into his boots, or rather his feet, as he recognized it. 'You're' not leaving so soon, are you'' Almost pleadingly.

Turning around a little, he beheld the torian girl he had rescued earlier standing some distance behind him, resplendent in her naked beauty. Her whip was in one hand, lying tamely on the ground, as her wings were extended from her full and luscious body, seemingly innocent and pure white, ivory even, but the tips gave them away, for they glinted in the dim light with a steely, menacing touch.

Vysanth, you are so screwed, he thought to himself in dismay as he looks at her, her expression pleading, but as he made to move away, she drew closer, and he was deeply aware that it would only be a short while more before the Stunbolt wore out on the half-elf, and he would not be able to deal with them both at once.

'Why didn't you take me, you feline'' The sophistication in the voice was stunning, as she suddenly snarled, teasingly at him it seemed, but there was some pleasure and amusement in her voice, coupled with considerable curiosity. 'Have you no libido, you worm' Although, you look familiar to me'' Despite the sophistication it was still useful seeming and innocent, and Vysanth, who was used to keeping his emotions hidden, had his jaw drop open in shock at the sudden change her. '' slave.' Her tone was familiar though, an authoritative voice that boded no opposition. 'What is your name''

'Vysanth, my mistre',' he bit his voice off, anger and consternation with himself at having submitted so easily and readily, despite having thrown off that past from many many lifetimes ago. Clearly that place, was one she was familiar with also. 'Sorry' slip of tongue' and pray tell, what is yours, my lady''

Her lip curled up in a sneer, before she giggled, breaking the entire mood of the exchange again. 'I' I'm Melendrith,' she whispered bashfully, before her wings sent her up into the air. He almost fell back, raising his weapon above his head lest she suddenly strike him from above, but the next thing he knew she was closing in on the half elf, whose eyes were widening with shock and surprise as the whip lashed down towards him with a resounding crack, the wings shimmering, hard as steel and seemingly thirsting for blood. 'You nice' but no fun,' she giggles again, not turning back to him as the half elf rolled under her whip, then gave a sharp cry as something pierced him from her feathers, and he fell over unconscious, before her. 'This man nicer' maybe find you next time.'

Vysanth blinked, then not daring to wonder further, he quickly retrieved his dagger and, clutching his harp under his arm, ran from the clearing as fast as he could. A short while later he thought he heard a loud giggle, followed by a sharp scream, which he vaguely recognized as that of the half-elf.

Well, at least I have you back, he thought, as he felt the cool metal of the harp's surface upon his fur and tunic. And that is all I need'

Melendrith' that's a name I shall remember.

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