The Piano's Soft Strike

The man sat at the bar, the thick wooden top having been worn smooth over the decades of use. As many patrons setting down a glass or bottle as sand on the beach, each having a small effect multiplied by the countless hands. The cool drink in his hand, staring without thought as the chatter of the room caught his attention at random.

The lounge music being played a four armed moony, the jaunty and somber song fitting his mood just fine. As the glass sweated in his palm, the song shifted into a lighter more relaxed tune. Resting his elbows down on the bartop, he listened to a group of Mercs talk about the pay they were going to get for hunting down some harpy brood mother that had recently been stealing the sheep from local farmers.

His attention shifted from the Mercs to a political delegation from Huron. Eavesdropping on the trade deal they wanted to make with King Berthelot, they apparently had some new copper mine opened up in the eastern mountains near the Valley of Mists. Thinking they could leverage some kind of tax easement for the shipyards in the southern port of the Capitol City, Fat chance, Berthelot is a never going to lay his hands on it. The man swirled his drink, taking a quick sip before another conversation caught his attention.

The Pianist shifted into another casual song, soft and sobering. Like leaves drifting in an autumnal breeze, the song wafted through the bar room. Some travelers spoke about being accosted by the goblin clan again. He was more than surprised to hear that those little murderers had wanted to trade rather than raid. While they still came out the wrong end of the deal, the goblins having no notion about what anything was actually worth, they were alive at least.

The bartender refilled his glass with the thick Mhuzulti spirit. She leaned close as she did so, letting him see a bit more than he had been expecting with that low cut of her dress, a sly grin on her face. Though he had been a regular at Gables Great Bar Room, this woman had been sweet on him only recently. Only after he had begun selling the conversations to Salandrahth, had this barkeep started her interest with him. He thought this was only to keep him motivated beyond money, he had seen this tactic before.

Having been here so long, he had seen the searchers getting the same treatment. Whether it was men or women, preferences varied, the numerous staff the Gorgon had on hand would flirt, conversate, and on a few rare occasions invite them upstairs to keep the information flowing into her intel network. While he wasn't complaining, she was gorgeous with her sleek black hair, angled face, and gods blessed figure.

What he wasn't expecting was to hear his favorite song being played. A sad one, reminding him of his youth in the military. His long marches on the Zybtine Desert planes, feeling the hot wind on his face, this armor cooling from the heat of the day in the setting sun. "So what has Hassan heard tonight? His ears that hears all?"

Salandrahth's soft voice underpinned by the even softer hiss of the snakes in her hair. The Matron of the Bar, her own beauty stunning. Eyes like that of the same desert sun he so wished to see again over the sands of his homeland. Lips painted a deep red to accent her copper scales, fading to a light cream at the nape of her neck. Having to stop himself from letting his eyes drift lower, she smiled at him. Setting a fat sack of coins before him, slender fingers playing with the strings that held it closed tight.

So he began relaying the conversations he heard. Her engaging in pleasant chit-chat while he tried to pry information from her, evading each question with the wit of a sage.