Before reality had, unfortunately, came barging through his door, Frank had been enjoying the warmth of the body next to him. Yelling, shoving and somehow he’d ended up outside, breeches on clutching his violin in a wind of confusion. All until, of course, the gentleman calling let steel ring loud and clear.
Well… fuck.
He had to credit the man, however, since beforehand Frank had no idea how nimble at escape he was. Not only escape, but managing to pick up a disguise and lose the man in the process without losing.. anything than half his clothes? Well, now that was a useful talent. Aquiring on his liberation a new cloak, some clean breeches and a rather grotesque mask, which unfortunately covered a good portion of his face. A crime against nature, surely. With his condition, however, Frank took a wrong turn, barrelling into a group, becoming caught up in the wake of their movement towards some odd looking archway in the short distance. Once crossing over, the radical change in scenery and location caught him completely off guard. He held no familiarity about this place, nothing. A thrill of excitement rang through the bards' spine over the possibilities waiting to be discovered.
Wasting no time and with his instrument in tow, the man found his way easily into a group of musicians. Quickly being brought up to speed over the network, now fully open to traverse over the great distances. Arlathan itself was a wonder, yet always he followed the music, his lifeblood, quickly befriending a rambunctious lot who he’d argue were more rogue than a horde of bards. It mattered diddly-squat in the grand scheme of things. Instead, he wrote some new pieces, inspiration falling from the new territory being discovered. Meanwhile, the lingering question of home, at least for the elves, had been answered. So what of him? There was a longing for home, but it wasn’t for Antiva. Regardless of the deep affection he held for the homeland, he openly disapproved of its current course.
All Frank could sense was that one's true home was a paradise of sorts and with the gaggle of musicians he’d now found himself in cahoots with, working and playing with his melodies and lyrics, soon had the creatives in a buzz. Mildly distracted from his quest of discovery, he deigned to continue the use of his disguise, the mask finding recognition along with his singular stage name.
A small rabble of musicians, they could hold a modest enough crowd, but since their masked figure entered, more lingered, words of praise and equal scandal were passed around. Under his facade, all Frank could do was grin as fingertips drew and plucked notes in the beginning. Holding the instrument unnaturally until a beat carried by a dwarf and a few makeshift cans joined the violinist. His bow drew along the horsehair strings to smoothen the tune, throwing in a tremor of vibrato because he could.
Imagine Frankie's folky Version
Well… fuck.
He had to credit the man, however, since beforehand Frank had no idea how nimble at escape he was. Not only escape, but managing to pick up a disguise and lose the man in the process without losing.. anything than half his clothes? Well, now that was a useful talent. Aquiring on his liberation a new cloak, some clean breeches and a rather grotesque mask, which unfortunately covered a good portion of his face. A crime against nature, surely. With his condition, however, Frank took a wrong turn, barrelling into a group, becoming caught up in the wake of their movement towards some odd looking archway in the short distance. Once crossing over, the radical change in scenery and location caught him completely off guard. He held no familiarity about this place, nothing. A thrill of excitement rang through the bards' spine over the possibilities waiting to be discovered.
Wasting no time and with his instrument in tow, the man found his way easily into a group of musicians. Quickly being brought up to speed over the network, now fully open to traverse over the great distances. Arlathan itself was a wonder, yet always he followed the music, his lifeblood, quickly befriending a rambunctious lot who he’d argue were more rogue than a horde of bards. It mattered diddly-squat in the grand scheme of things. Instead, he wrote some new pieces, inspiration falling from the new territory being discovered. Meanwhile, the lingering question of home, at least for the elves, had been answered. So what of him? There was a longing for home, but it wasn’t for Antiva. Regardless of the deep affection he held for the homeland, he openly disapproved of its current course.
All Frank could sense was that one's true home was a paradise of sorts and with the gaggle of musicians he’d now found himself in cahoots with, working and playing with his melodies and lyrics, soon had the creatives in a buzz. Mildly distracted from his quest of discovery, he deigned to continue the use of his disguise, the mask finding recognition along with his singular stage name.
A small rabble of musicians, they could hold a modest enough crowd, but since their masked figure entered, more lingered, words of praise and equal scandal were passed around. Under his facade, all Frank could do was grin as fingertips drew and plucked notes in the beginning. Holding the instrument unnaturally until a beat carried by a dwarf and a few makeshift cans joined the violinist. His bow drew along the horsehair strings to smoothen the tune, throwing in a tremor of vibrato because he could.
Imagine Frankie's folky Version
03-25-2023, 05:05 PM
